


The Sword and the Flame

by Scribo_Vivere



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Brief Michael/Castiel, Character Death Outside of Castiel or Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester as Zorro, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Made Myself Cry, I Tried, I've Ruined The Zorro Franchise, M/M, Minor John Winchester/Mary Winchester, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 05:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribo_Vivere/pseuds/Scribo_Vivere
Summary: The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before I start, I absolutely must give some well-deserved shout-outs. 
> 
> First and foremost, to my amazing artist Coplins, who was patient, kind, and completely stunned me with the gorgeous art she produced from this writer's often confusing fic. 
> 
> Second, to my bestie xHaruka17x, who refused to give up on me and pushed me to finish this, even when I sat on the proverbial floor and threw a tantrum because the words weren't coming out the way I wanted them to. Thank you, love; look what I did! (Yes, I'm insanely proud.) 
> 
> And last but certainly not least, to all of the Destiel fans--it is for you that I write, and your continued support means so much to an often-struggling author that wonders if her words mean anything. 
> 
> I love all of you, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed creating it!
> 
>  
> 
> The beautiful art drawn by my artist is here: http://coplins.tumblr.com/post/179936939695/the-sword-and-the-flame-art-masterpost-okay

_Spanish California, 1780_

The fragrant scent of jasmine and pear drifted through the air as the young man walked along the _hacienda_ ’s garden path, head down and brow furrowed. So intent was he on absorbing every bit of information in the book that he did not notice the loose cobblestone, and subsequently stumbled over it, righting himself just before he would have crashed unceremoniously into the gate.

Clearing his throat, Don Dean de Winchester straightened his tunic, glancing around to make certain no one had seen his near-mishap. A small giggle, however, let him know that someone had. Turning, Dean saw a servant girl carrying a basket of herbs, staring shyly at him from the corner of the home and failing to hide her smile. He put a finger to his lips.

“Don’t tell anyone how clumsy your _patrón_ is,” he chuckled. She nodded, still smiling, and disappeared. Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he watched her go. It was difficult to pretend he was a useless and bumbling young man, when his true identity had to be kept secret constantly.

“ _Hijo._ We have company. Come.”

The sound of his father’s voice from the balcony of the _hacienda_ drew Don Dean from his reverie. There was only one person that could possibly be calling at such an early hour, and his stomach turned sour. Nevertheless, he followed the older man inside.

Don Juan de Winchester was a formidable man, strong and silent, and not to be trifled with. He had lost his wife, who had borne him his only son, in a terrible fire when Dean was four, and had since grown to love solitude and _escocés_ more than his child, it seemed.

Dean found Don Juan in the study, pouring a glass of brandy for their visitor. Barely looking up, he spoke.

“Capitán Miguel has business matters he wishes to discuss. Stay awhile, and then, if it is imperative, you may return to your studies.” The last few words seemed forced, as though Don Juan wished Dean had chosen a path less involved with broadening the mind and more toward the strengthening of the body and spirit. The rejection stung; nevertheless, the younger Winchester smiled in Miguel’s general direction. Truthfully, he had never cared for the Capitán’s ruthless ways of maintaining order, and he knew Miguel was aware. Still, while in the presence of others, Dean played the obedient fool who knew nothing of war.

“Capitán. What may we do for one as distinguished as yourself?”

Miguel’s lip curled in a barely-there sneer as his eyes raked over the younger man, yet he addressed only his father--rather brusquely, Dean thought. What could Miguel be planning now?

He was soon to find out.

“Don Juan,” he began. “You know that I would not intrude so early in the day if it were not an urgent matter. It is well known that you and Padre Roberto have been friends for quite some time, and that he has listened to you in the past. I regret to inform you that the Padre has been refusing to pay his dues in order to keep the mission open and accessible to all. It is my hope that you may be able to convince him of the importance of this civic duty.”

Dean had to fight the urge to clench his fist. Nothing Miguel ever asked was a request. It was unspoken knowledge that when the Capitán came to your home, “no” was never an option. And now, to use his father’s dearest friend against the Don? Miguel was nothing if not an utter snake.

It was clear that Don Juan was measuring his words very carefully. To say something out of line would cost him everything, yet to agree was to condemn the Friar to a lifetime of hard labor in the notorious salt mines. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

“I understand your predicament, Capitán. All must contribute for the common good. Yet I am not sure that the Padre will understand. He lives a simple lifestyle, with little regard for the trappings of this earthly life the rest of us seem to hold so dear. He is a devout, honest man. Nevertheless, I will attempt to help him see things the way you do.”

Miguel seemed satisfied with that answer, and Dean breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, thanking God the Capitán seemed to be in a generous mood today. Don Juan spoke again, holding out Miguel’s empty tumbler.

“Thank you for your visit. Would you care for some more to drink before you must return to the barracks?”

“I thank you, Don Juan, but I must decline. There are prisoners I must attend to that face their judgment this day.”

Again, Dean was hard pressed to keep up the persona of the fool. Everything in him wanted to tell the Capitán where to go and the path to take to get there. Dean was willing to bet his entire savings that Miguel’s “prisoners” would be sentenced to a firing squad for reasons that were not true reasons at all.

Dean’s father showed the Capitán out, and as soon as he had returned, the younger man sighed and spoke, though internally, the words made him sick.

“Father, I understand that Capitán Miguel commands respect, and as such we should extend it to him whenever possible, by all means available. Yet must we truly upset the apple cart by commenting on the Padre’s affairs? It seems to me that--”

Don Juan cut him off with an irritated wave of his hand.

“You are young yet, Dean, and fancy knowledge of books more than the world of men. Miguel may not be able to create peace in one fell swoop, but he is working toward it the best he can. It is not your place to question his methods.”

Dean nearly flinched at the obvious dismissal, yet said quietly, “I see, Father.”

The Don sat behind his desk, raking a hand through his hair. There was silence for a long moment, and then, as if suddenly remembering his son was still standing there, sighed himself.

“Go. I am sure that you have much reading to accomplish.”

Swallowing hard, Dean bowed at the waist. “As you wish, Father.”

Exiting the study, he looked over his shoulder to see Don Juan with his head in his hand, staring unseeingly at a glass of _escocés_ he had filled to the brim. His expression was the very picture of despair.

His heart aching, Dean whispered, “Don’t worry, Father. Soon everything will be made right. I will see to it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Don Castiel de Novak looked up, startled, as Miguel stormed through the barracks door and flung his sword and scabbard on the table, looking every inch the furious, feared Capitán he was. He scowled at Castiel. 

“Have you acquired the papers?”

The other man laid down his quill, meeting Miguel’s disgruntled gaze. “Unfortunately, the Dons want nothing to do with your...proposal.”

With a snarl, Miguel spat upon the stone floor. “Soon they will have no choice but to comply. These men know nothing of how to fight. Their entire focus is leveled on their wealth and families. My military might will be more than enough to destroy them.”

Castiel reared back as Miguel suddenly leaned forward over the table, but the other man caught his chin, preventing him from pulling away. The Capitán’s eyes were on fire. 

“And you, my dear Castiel, will be the catalyst.”

“I?” Castiel didn’t like the sound of that, but Miguel chuckled. 

“Who else? You’re just the kind of weak, helpless creature that the Fox would love to rescue. And when he comes for you, I shall have him in the palm of my hand.”

Castiel frowned as Miguel headed for the door. “How am I to lure him in? I have nothing that would attract him.”

Miguel’s eyes glinted dangerously as he looked over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m certain that we can think of something.”

***

Dean waited until darkness fell, quietly padding downstairs. As he had suspected, Don Juan was asleep at his desk, three empty tumblers and a large bottle set in front of him. With a soft sigh of regret, the younger Don turned away. He would deal with the situation in the morning. For now, the townspeople needed him, as they always would.

Below the window overlooking the courtyard, he kept a large chest. Opening it near-silently, the man withdrew a cape, gloves, mask, and  _ cordobès.  _ Donning them swiftly over his tunic and breeches, he stood for a moment before the mirror. The all-black outfit would not reveal him until the opportune moment. 

Taking the last two items from the very bottom of the chest--a long black bullwhip and a rapier--Don Dean de Winchester was no more. El Zorro, the Fox, was now present. 

Quickly, Zorro strode to the corner of his room and pressed his fingers to the edge of the molding, and a secret door sprang inward, allowing for a cool gust of air to rustle the edges of the cape. Zorro smiled. He had discovered the tunnel by accident one day, and it had served him well ever since. 

Entering, Zorro made sure to seal the entrance behind him, quietly making his way down the long passageway to where a beautiful black steed stood waiting at the other end, munching on a pile of fresh hay. When she saw her master, she gave a small snort, kicking up one foot. 

Zorro approached, laying a hand on her flank. 

“Hello, Impala,” he murmured, and she abandoned the hay to turn her head, butting his wrist. 

“It is time again, my dear friend,” he whispered. “The Fox rides tonight.”

As if she fully understood--and Zorro had no doubt that she did--Impala snorted once more and stood very still. With ease, Zorro mounted her back, guiding her to the other entrance of the passageway, which was hidden by long, unconfined vines that reached the ground. The tunnel was actually a cave, which had become part of the rock after many years due to a natural hot spring nearby. 

Zorro glanced up at the crescent moon. The lack of light would make it easier to evade Miguel and his troops. There was no love lost between the Fox and the Capitán. 

With a click of Zorro’s tongue, Impala trotted out of the cave, then broke into a full gallop as she reached the hills. There was no time to waste. Like a dark cancer, Miguel and his devious plans would continue to devour everything in their path unless they were stopped.

***

The streets were deserted at such an hour, but Zorro was no fool. To underestimate Miguel was to sign one’s own death warrant. 

Impala trotted off when Zorro gave her flank a sharp tap, and quietly, the Fox leapt the wall separating the barracks courtyard from the road, landing soundlessly in the dirt. With calculating eyes, he watched the prison cell nearest to the barracks door.

Sure enough, a man stepped into view, head tilted to stare at the starry heavens. He appeared to be praying, and Zorro knew well why he did so. Miguel’s orders would have him hanging by dawn for crimes that were made to suit the Capitán’s agenda, nothing more.

Boisterous laughing was heard from inside the barracks, and the Fox’s fingers curled lightly around the hilt of his blade. Soon enough, the door swung open to reveal two soldiers, stumbling with their arms around each other’s shoulders as they swayed across the courtyard.

“My friend,” the first slurred drunkenly, “you are a man of vigor. Yet I fear that you cannot hold your liquor well.”

“Ah!” The second waved a hand haphazardly at nothing. “You know nothing of my limits. When the Fox arrives, it will be his end. I promise you this.”

Zorro chuckled silently. Two drunkards proposing his death was quite amusing. 

“And when he comes,” the second soldier continued haughtily, “Miguel will see to it that Don Jacobo will die like the dog he is--in front of that masked terror.”

Zorro’s eyes narrowed. Don Jacobo was the closest thing Don Juan had to a brother. He had saved him from despair and the wish for death many times since Juan’s wife had perished. For Don Juan to lose him to a madman’s game would destroy him utterly, and that was something Zorro would not allow.

Zorro let out a long, low whistle, and immediately the soldiers were fumbling for their swords. 

“Who goes there?” the second one shouted, as the first turned in a dizzying circle, his eyes attempting to focus in the dark. “Show yourself!”  
Rolling his eyes, Zorro took a smooth stone from beside his foot and threw it. The object hit its mark, and the first soldier howled, clutching his forehead. 

In a flash, he had been caught by the throat. “Do not bring the Masked Rider down on us!”

“But my head,  _ señor _ ...something has hit my head…”

“You will lose your head if you continue blubbering, you fool!” The voice belonged to Miguel, and the soldiers instantly saluted, albeit sloppily. The Capitán shoved them aside.

“I know you are here, Zorro! You will show yourself to me, or Don Jacobo dies this night!”

Miguel listened as laughter echoed all around them. “Your methods of capture are quite archaic, Capitán. Perhaps if you had asked with more gentleness, I would be so inclined.”

With a snarl, Miguel turned back and strode to the cell door, the point of his blade at Don Jacobo’s throat. “Would you have blood on your hands, El Zorro?” he shouted. “I have no qualms about running the prisoner through!”

“Indeed?” 

The voice was directly behind him, and Miguel swallowed as he felt the point of Zorro’s rapier in his spleen. He let his sword drop, raising his hands. 

“Open the door, Miguel.” The Fox’s tone was distinctly cold. “I know you possess the keys.”

Slowly, Miguel reached for his belt, but at the last possible moment kicked out, and sand flew into Zorro’s eyes. With a hiss, the Fox backed away, shaking his head, and Miguel retrieved his sword, lunging forward.

On instinct, Zorro dodged just in time, the irritating grit finally clear of his vision. Miguel roared in fury.

“Up!” he bellowed wildly. “Rouse yourselves! The Fox is here!”

The sounds of soldiers frantically shouting and tumbling from the barracks made Zorro grin. 

“You call your minions, Capitán? Can you not fight on your own?”

With a scream of rage, Miguel slashed out with his weapon. Zorro easily dodged again, and met Miguel strike for intermittent strike as he sent the rest of the soldiers scattering.

***

Castiel heard the ruckus from the Capitán’s bedroom, and knew at once who Miguel and his soldiers fought. With his heart in his throat, the Don flew to the open doorway, standing there in silent shock as Miguel and the troops were beaten back.

Zorro noticed Castiel, and tipped his  _ cordobés  _ before sending three soldiers to the ground at once with a violent strike of his rapier. 

“My dear Don,” he winked. “Do excuse my lack of manners. I am the Fox.”

“I know,” Castiel returned, his mouth very dry. “I did not imagine you to be so--” Quickly, he cut himself off before he said something rather embarrassing, but Zorro grinned, easily fending off a would-be killing strike from another soldier.

“Dashing?” 

Castiel couldn’t help the warmth that spread throughout his body. “Well, I--El Zorro, look out!” he interrupted himself, as Miguel rose up from behind him, his face a twisted mask of hatred, sword aloft.

Zorro spun, knocking Miguel’s sword from his hand with a well-placed clash of steel on steel. The Capitán howled, absolutely enraged, but the Fox’s blade at his throat stilled his voice immediately. 

Zorro looked at the barracks, where Castiel was still standing in the doorway, and bowed. Castiel blushed, but the Fox was not finished.

“Come,” he said, extending a hand. “All is well, for now.”

Hesitantly, Castiel left the safety of the barracks. Zorro smiled. 

“You are quite the hero. My life was forfeit until you saw fit to save it.”

Miguel’s expression could have killed a rattlesnake as he stared at Castiel, but in the presence of the Fox, the Don felt bold. He smiled at Zorro, completely ignoring the Capitán.

“One so willing to risk his life for others should never have to be concerned with losing it.”

Zorro laughed. “I see that you are a charmer.”

“I?” Castiel gaped. “No, that is not-”

Again, Zorro chuckled in amusement, and the sound made Castiel weak in the knees. “As much as I would like to continue this conversation, Don Castiel, I believe that there is someone who deserves our attention far more.”

Zorro reached down and removed the keys from Miguel’s belt, handing them to Castiel. “Would you do me the honor?”

Though his hands trembled at the realization of how badly Miguel would treat him for it, Castiel inserted the key. As the door swung open and Don Jacobo stepped out into the coming dawn, he spared Castiel a glance, his eyes speaking volumes. 

Zorro whistled high, and the whinny of a horse could be heard. He turned to Castiel. 

“I trust that you are in full control of the situation here?” he asked gently, and the Don gave a small nod, unable to speak. The Fox smiled. 

“Then it is time Don Jacobo and I take our leave. It is my hope that I will see you again,  _ Señor. _ ”

Watching Zorro and the other man disappear beyond the courtyard wall, Castiel whispered into the night air, “I trust you will, El Zorro. I trust you will.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Don Jacobo slid easily off the horse as Zorro tightened his grip on Impala’s reins, bringing her to a gentle stop in front of the mission. The man’s eyes were solemn as he stared up at the Fox.

“Your aid is greatly appreciated, but I fear the Capitán will bring the brunt of his anger down on Don Castiel.”

Zorro’s gaze darkened beneath his mask. “And what type of anger is this?”

Don Jacobo spared the hills around them a quick glance before lowering his voice. “It is rumored that Miguel’s bed is warmed by the man, and not of his own volition. While I despise the taxes I must pay the Don, I find it abhorrent the lengths Miguel is willing to go to in order to placate his desires.”

Zorro felt his jaw tighten. It was not hard to guess what Don Jacobo was getting at, delicate though he tried to be. “I’m well aware that the Capitán is a monster, but I did not believe him until now to be in league with the Devil himself.” 

“Be careful, Zorro!” warned Jacobo. “There are always eyes and ears nearby that will bring such treasonous words back to Miguel.”

The Fox cared little for what Miguel thought, but to bring disaster upon the mission because of a slip of the tongue was unacceptable. He straightened in the saddle.

“True enough. Should the Padre require the aid of my dear friend Don Dean de Winchester, I’m certain that he would be more than happy to continue helping the Indians learn to read and farm.”

Don Jacobo smiled. “Dean has always been an asset to this mission. I will pass along your message.”

Zorro gave a quick nod, clicking his tongue, and Impala turned to the east. “Be very careful, Don Jacobo. Within the mission walls, you are safe. Outside of them, the Capitán will see you as fair prey.”

The Don watched the Fox ride off into the night with a frown. Something about Zorro seemed quite familiar…

“Eh,” Jacobo muttered, with a shrug.

***

Quickly, Zorro slipped through the open window of the  _ hacienda  _ and stripped himself of all weapons and clothing, changing into a robe and throwing back the sheets and pillows of the bed to look as though it had been slept in, before venturing into the main room with an exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms above his head.

“Father?” he called out as he walked. “I do apologize for rising so late. It seems that my insomnia has returned.”

“How very interesting,” a curt, clipped voice said, “but I hardly think that Don Juan is interested in hearing about your sleepless night. There are far more important matters to discuss.”

Immediately the younger Don stopped, fixing Capitán Miguel with a cool, calm stare. Three other officers stood tall beside the Capitán.

“I did not realize that you had a habit of entering homes without a proper greeting, Capitán.”

Don Juan, who was standing beside Miguel, shot his son a withering look. “He has greeted me, Dean. If you were not still abed past the rising of the sun, perhaps you would know what has transpired during the night.”

“Indeed,” Miguel fumed. “That notorious outlaw has done it again!”

“Outlaw?” Dean asked innocently, and Miguel whirled on him. 

“El Zorro, Don Dean! During the evening watch, he made a fool out of myself and my men--and helped the notorious instigator Don Jacobo escape!”

At that, Don Juan’s eyes widened in shock before narrowing to slits.

“You were keeping Don Jacobo prisoner? Why was I not informed of this?”

Miguel sighed, a sound somewhere between irritation and long-suffering. “My dear Don Juan,” he said, placing a hand on the other man’s wrist. If he noticed the fiery glance the older Winchester gave him, he ignored it. “We are all aware that Don Jacobo has been in league with the Padre to escape paying taxes.”

“What?” Don Juan could not believe his ears. “And this fraudulent reason is why you had him arrested?”

Miguel’s eyes turned cold, and Dean cleared his throat, stepping forward. 

“We humbly beg your pardon, Capitán. I am sure that my father did not mean his words.”

“Oh, I meant them, my son,” Juan said grimly, and pointed a finger at Miguel. “Now I see the reasons behind your attempt to have me persuade the Padre into paying taxes on the mission. There are no taxes on church property, Miguel--your aim all along was to take the land for yourself!”

The Capitán’s eyes flashed. “My  _ aim  _ will be to arrest you shortly, Don Juan, if you do not watch your tongue.”

Juan’s jaw set in a tight line. 

“You may be able to frighten the people of this pueblo with your threats and lies, Miguel, but I am not so easily moved. The Governor will hear of this.”

Miguel snorted. “The Governor is too involved with other matters of importance to concern himself with the taxation of one small pueblo. As for you, I am sure a few nights in my jail will cure you of your insatiable need to become involved in things that do not concern you.” He snapped his fingers. 

“Santiago, Perez--arrest this man for creating dissension and for being an accomplice of El Zorro.”

“This is preposterous!” Don Juan bit out, as the two soldiers took him firmly by the arms. “I do not personally know the Fox! As far as dissension--”

Dean started as Miguel slapped Don Juan across the cheek with his glove, his hands fisting. Yet his rational mind loudly ordered him to remain where he was and play the part of a weak son, however much it pained him.

“Capitán Miguel,” he said. “I beg you to reconsider your actions. My father--”

“Will have his son joining him in jail if you do not cease your whining!” Miguel snapped, and Dean immediately took a step back, swallowing convulsively. 

“Should you wish to see him,” Miguel continued icily, “you may do so at your leisure--at the barracks.  _ Buenos dias,  _ Don Dean.”

With a haughty flourish, Miguel and his soldiers had departed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to the the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

The cell door closed with a firm iron creak, shutting him off from the outside world, yet Don Juan maintained his composure as the Capitán stared at him coldly.

“Perhaps now you will tell me the whereabouts of this notorious thorn in my side,” he said crisply, but Don Juan simply laughed in his face.

“Is something amusing?” Miguel asked, voice terse, and the other man chuckled. 

“Zorro is a friend to all of our people. He cannot be contained by anyone, Capitán--not even you.”

Lightning flashed in Miguel’s eyes. “How dare you presume--”

“Capitán. Don Dean is demanding to see his father.”

Swiftly, Miguel stepped up to the cell door. “One more word about sedition, and you will hang tomorrow at dawn,  _ Señor _ .” He turned. “Bring him in.”

The soldier appeared confused. “But  _ mì Capitàn,  _ it has always been customary to allow those visiting prisoners their privacy.”

“I said, bring him in, Perez!”

“ _ Sì, Capitàn!”  _ Quickly, the soldier clicked his heels and went out, returning in a moment with the furious younger Don. Every muscle in his body was taut, and his eyes were a light green, indicative of his anger.

“I demand to know the real reason behind my father’s arrest,” he said without preamble. “Your explanation is severely lacking.”

Miguel  _ tsked.  _ “Don Dean, where are your manners? As you are able to see, your father is quite well in my custody.”

“He would be well at home, Capitàn, where he belongs. I cannot condone the whims of an apparent madman.”

Miguel stiffened at once, his gaze darkening. “Careful, Don Dean,” he said dangerously. “I grow quite weary of your continued interference in military matters.”

“Military matters?” Dean gritted, fighting to keep his temper in check, if only for Don Juan’s sake. “Your feeble attempts at destroying the hearts of our people would cause the Governor great offense, I’m certain.”

Though he was inwardly pleased that it seemed his son had finally grown a backbone, Don Juan had no desire to see the younger man occupying a cell beside him.

“Gentlemen,” he said commandingly. “I highly doubt that verbal attacks and the route to fisticuffs will solve the problem at hand.”

Dean glanced at him. “Father--”

“Go home, my son,” Don Juan sighed. “Though your support is welcome, the prospect of your own arrest is not.”

Dean swallowed visibly, more out of ire than fear, and stared hard at Miguel.

“I will secure his release, Capitàn, though it takes every peso I own,” he promised darkly, and Miguel smiled slowly. 

“Indeed, Don Dean, it may be so.”

With a glare, Dean turned and strode from the jail, and Don Juan faced the Capitàn, his expression stoic. Miguel simply sighed dramatically.

“Be reasonable, Don Juan,” he urged. “Only give me El Zorro’s true identity, and you shall walk free. You have my word.”

“Your word?” Juan said incredulously. “That is truly laughable, Miguel. Even were I to know who this Zorro is, I would not betray him to you.”

“Do you care nothing for your people?” Miguel snapped. “This brigand is a threat!”

“A threat?” Juan laughed softly. “No, Miguel. The only threat that I perceive is you. El Zorro is a symbol of the freedom you so harshly deny us.” His eyes seemed to bore into the Capitàn’s soul. 

“This freedom is not something that you control. If El Zorro sees fit to release me to scorn you, he shall. But know this--if he does not, and I hang, others will rise to champion the cause which you seek to crush beneath your heel.”

Miguel’s nostrils flared.

“I fear the gallows is indeed your fate, Don Juan.”

***

As the moon was rising, Zorro slipped over the wall separating the barracks courtyard from the plaza, once again landing silently on his feet. This time, the Fox would be sure to let Miguel know of his presence. Tonight, it would be about more than feeble attempts at swordplay.

As he slid past the nearest window, soft pleas and harsh grunts could be heard coming from the open panes. Zorro paused. His destination was but a mere few feet away, yet the sounds were very disconcerting.

His decision made, the Fox quietly hauled himself upward. What he saw made his blood boil.

Capitàn Miguel had Don Castiel pinned to the rough sheets, and it was very obvious what he was doing. The Don’s cries of pain were overshadowed by Miguel’s growls, and in the moonlight, Zorro saw blood.

“Capitàn. I believe that the gentleman wishes not to be touched.” Zorro’s voice was dangerously soft.

With a sputter, Miguel rose up and flung the sheets around himself in a manner that would have been amusing, had he not been in such a compromising position. 

“Have you no sense of decency?” Miguel roared, and the Fox smiled grimly.

“It would seem that you, Miguel, are the one sorely lacking in that area.”

“How dare you approach my private quarters at night to spy on my personal life! I could have you hung for this! ”

Zorro hopped lightly down onto the stone floor, earning himself another sputter from the Capitàn. 

“And I am sure the good people of this pueblo would be utterly scandalized to hear of the act their good Capitàn was involved in this night.”

“You,” Miguel seethed. “You will swing from the gallows until you rot!”

Don Castiel slowly sat up, traces of tears on his cheeks, and stumbled off the bed, wrapping his arms around his middle in a vain attempt to hide his nakedness. He was by no means a frail man, but Miguel was taller and heavier, and his anger lent him added strength.

Zorro glanced at him, his eyes full of compassion, and then they flicked back to Miguel, their color darkening. 

“I advise you to apologize to the Don. And afterward…” Zorro’s look turned disgusted. “Please do put on some clothes.”

Miguel snarled in the general direction of Castiel. “When the Fox leaves, you will create a notice declaring a bounty of one thousand pesos on his head, and whoever delivers him to me--alive or dead--will reap that reward.”

“No.”

Both Miguel and Zorro stared at the Don--one in fury, the other in surprised pleasure. Miguel was turning a fiery shade of red as he repeated, “No?”

“I will no longer be your slave or your fool,” Castiel said sharply, hastily dressing. “Should you have the gall to seek me, I’m certain El Zorro will be more than willing to give you your due.”

Miguel could only watch as Zorro leapt onto the sill, reaching down to grasp the outstretched hand of the Don and pulling him upwards. The Fox tipped his  _ cordobès.  _

“ _ Buenas noches,  _ Miguel. And do remember that I’ve let you live this night. The next time, the odds may not be in your favor.”

The Capitàn could only clench his fists and watch as the two men disappeared into the dusk.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Castiel slid off Zorro’s horse, turning to face the Fox with a smile. The ride had been smooth, and despite the fact he was wary of horses, Impala had treated him well.

As if reading his thoughts, Zorro stroked her flank. The Don couldn’t help but watch the gentle movements, and the same yearning that had possessed him the first night they had met coursed through him now. What would it be like to be caressed in such a way? He had only ever known Miguel’s harsh touch.

Castiel did not notice that Zorro was watching him in turn, until the other man spoke softly.

“I am truly sorry that you have endured so much pain.”

The meaning was clear, and Castiel swallowed as the night’s memories--and many more--of his abuse at the Capitán’s hands rose to the forefront of his mind. “I thank you, El Zorro, but I will survive.”

Zorro’s eyes were very kind, and his voice was gentle.

“There is a fine line between surviving and truly living, Don Castiel.”

Against his will, tears obscured Castiel’s line of vision. Zorro was right, but how could he tell the Fox that he did not wish to live without him by his side? The answer was simple; he dared not.

Zorro dismounted with ease, his expression beneath the mask concerned. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

The Don shook his head briefly. “I regret that I have worried you.” He forced another smile, turning toward the mission, where Zorro had arranged for him to stay. It was safe there, and even Miguel was reticent about angering the Padre too much. “The evening runs on. I’m certain you must attend to other matters.”

Castiel froze as Zorro’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, warm and comforting even beneath the silk glove. It was an unexpected touch, but certainly not unwelcome--and may God help him, the Don was quickly losing his battle with propriety.

“Don Castiel,” Zorro murmured. “Do not play me for a fool. I have been the object of desire many times before. I know its face.”

Slowly, Castiel met the Fox’s eyes, which were a vibrant green. He saw nothing but compassion there, and...could it be want, as well?

“I cannot destroy your reputation,” he whispered desperately, but Zorro pressed a finger to his lips. Startled, Castiel gasped, inadvertently drawing the man’s digit into his mouth.

The Fox’s pupils dilated, and before Castiel could apologize, Zorro had withdrawn from him.

“Don Castiel,” he rumbled, but Zorro did not continue, and for a moment, Castiel was terribly afraid that he had been wrong.

Any further thoughts that he had caused irreparable shame and reproach to his country’s hero left his mind as the Fox’s mouth was suddenly upon his.

Castiel tried to move away, still fearing that somehow, this was all a dream he would soon wake from, but Zorro’s arms slid around his waist, pulling him flush against the Fox’s body. The Don could feel how richly muscled the other man was, yet Zorro made no effort to keep him there. The embrace was loose, and the simple knowledge that he was free to end the entire affair at any moment gave him a radical confidence. 

It warmed the Fox’s heart when Castiel returned the kiss, and apparently, the other man had been utterly starved for affection. The thought created even more of a dislike for Miguel in Zorro’s mind.

“Zorro,” Castiel breathed, and the sudden lack of formality somehow made Zorro desire the Don all the more. But twilight was fast approaching, and Miguel’s evil machinations were sure to reach a disastrous conclusion. Reluctantly, Zorro stepped away, and the sudden flash of hurt in Castiel’s eyes very nearly broke the Fox’s heart in two. He brushed a gentle hand across the Don’s cheek.

Castiel’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch as he understood. “Return to me, beloved _. _ ”

The Fox urged Impala into a gallop, sand and dirt billowing behind them. Castiel did not lift a hand, but the words Zorro had whispered in his ear before his departure held fast in his heart and soul.

“ _ Nunca te abandonaré. Mira las colinas.”  _

Resolutely, Don Castiel entered the mission. There was much work to be done.

***

As dawn broke, Don Juan stared into the smug expression of Miguel. 

“It appears that the Fox did not come as you so wished. What a shame.” He snapped his fingers, and the soldier Perez, along with a new officer, immediately appeared next to him. The Capitán’s eyes were cold.

“Take this dissident to the gallows.”

Don Juan did not struggle as they led him outside into the cool morning air. The people of the pueblo had gathered, and many were murmuring quietly. When they saw Don Juan, there was a collective uptick in noise, and a few young men fought to keep their fingers from their swords. Juan was a strong leader, and well liked by the general public. Due to his influence, Miguel and his schemes had been kept at bay for some time. 

Don Juan noticed the birdsongs had begun. How ironic, he thought, that creatures of God who heralded life would usher in his death. But the man was not afraid. If anything, he knew that his passing would start the revolution that was so desperately needed.

The crowd quieted as Miguel stepped up to the bottom of the gallows, raising a hand. 

“Don Juan,” he said, loud enough for the people to hear. “You stand accused of dissension, cooperating with a known enemy, and conspiring to start a rebellion. For these crimes, you will hang from the neck until dead.”

Boos and angry calls erupted, but they stopped when Miguel bellowed, “Anyone who disagrees may hang with him!”

The soldiers once again took Don Juan by the arms, but at his look, they hastily released him. Calmly, Juan climbed the stairs to where the executioner waited, the noose ready. As they fitted it around his neck, he made no sound nor movement.

Miguel peered up through the rising sun’s rays at the man, feeling a great sense of satisfaction. At last, he would be rid of the Don and his troublesome ways. El Zorro was another matter, but for now, it appeared he would rather hide than keep an innocent man from dying.

“Capitán. I find it a shame that you would believe I’d leave Don Juan to his fate.”

Shouts and scuffling were heard around him as his soldiers attempted to pull themselves together and aim their guns. Miguel clenched his teeth, turning to find the Fox standing on the roof of the tavern, hand resting lightly on his rapier. Zorro lifted his hand in a wave.

“Shoot him!” Miguel ordered in a roar.

Of course, the soldiers missed, and the Fox leapt down. With a crack of his bullwhip, they were disarmed. Zorro  _ tsked.  _

“Capitán, really. I was under the impression that trained soldiers of the pueblo were better shots.”

“HANG THE MAN!” Miguel screamed to the executioner, who appeared confused as to who, exactly, he was meant to kill. It mattered little; Zorro had leapt onto the platform and sliced through the rope in an instant. Don Juan ducked as the executioner clumsily swung at the Fox with his fist, who simply stepped aside and let the other man trip over himself.

The crowd below cheered, and the Fox swept a small bow. Miguel glowered at Zorro as the man’s eyes landed on him. 

“The next time that you decide to arrest someone who champions the freedom of all, Capitán, remember that you will encounter me.”

“One day soon,” Miguel gritted, “I will look into your eyes as you die.”

The Fox shrugged lightly and smiled. “Perhaps. Until then, I bid you good day.”

Don Juan watched as Zorro whistled high, and a black steed tore around the corner of the tavern, coming to a stop just below the gallows. The Fox leapt lightly down onto the horse’s back, and with another gallant wave, he disappeared in a cloud of dust amid the cheering of the pueblo.

***

Don Castiel looked up from helping a young Indian girl reach a branch laden with persimmon fruit at the sound of footsteps. He couldn’t help the happiness he felt as he saw the kindly face of the Padre. 

“My child, may I have a word with you?” The Padre’s expression was unreadable.

“Of course.” Castiel excused himself with a small smile, following the Padre down a secluded path in the mission garden. When they were far enough away from others, the priest stopped, turning to face the other man with a serious expression.

“You need to be careful, Don Castiel.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” Castiel frowned. The Padre, however, sighed gently.

“I believe that you do. Becoming involved with El Zorro, however much your heart may desire it, is a dangerous endeavor.”  
Castiel looked away, his face heating. “I did not know that my feelings for the Fox were public knowledge.”

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, child.” The Padre placed a gentle hand on Castiel’s arm. “I’m simply attempting to make you aware of Miguel’s tendency to destroy that which is most precious.”

Castiel’s eyes were haunted. “I am very much acquainted with the Capitán’s ways, Padre, and I am cognizant of the fact that being in love with El Zorro is dangerous. Yet I cannot pretend that I do not love him. He is everything that Miguel is not, and I fear my heart is already in his possession.”

The Padre seemed to consider Castiel’s words. “Does he know?”

Don Castiel shifted in his place. “We have...acknowledged our mutual desires.”

The priest’s eyes widened, and he peered closely at the other man. “Surely you have not consummated this love?”

Castiel blushed an even deeper shade of red. “Of course not. El Zorro cannot risk such a thing.”

“You do understand, Don Castiel, that eventually this is what will happen? The Fox is a man like you and I. If he truly feels the way that you describe…”

Castiel shook his head. “Padre, please--”

“Don Castiel, I applaud your attempt to rationalize the situation, but the fact remains that your love for El Zorro will, at some point, cause a cascading chain of events.”

“Padre!”

Both looked up to see Don Dean walking toward them. The Padre murmured, “Let us save this conversation for another time.”

Castiel turned. “ _ Buenos dias,  _ Don Dean,” he said pleasantly. “How is your father? I had heard of his arrest, and offered prayers on his behalf.”

“Thank you, Don Castiel.” Don Dean smiled. “El Zorro saved his life.”

The Padre glanced at Castiel briefly. “That is wonderful news, my son.”

“Indeed it is.” Dean looked a bit sheepish. “Unfortunately, I was not there to witness the rescue. I was too involved writing letters to the governor in an attempt to secure my father’s release. However, I am eternally grateful to El Zorro. Had he not arrived when he did, my father would surely have been hanged.”

Don Castiel gave a nod. “I am sure that El Zorro was pleased to help.” He took a step back. “Forgive me, but I must go attend to some personal matters.”

Don Dean appeared surprised. “Must you leave so soon? I was about to inquire if you would care to assist me in the natives’ daily reading lesson.”

“I...would be honored, Don Dean.” Castiel looked genuinely surprised, and the Padre was secretly pleased. He had long thought that Don Dean would make a wonderful match for Castiel. The Padre cleared his throat.

“I will leave the Indians in your capable hands, then,” he smiled.

Don Dean watched as the priest walked away from them, a fond look on his face. “He is a good man.”

“I agree,” Castiel replied, and followed Don Dean back down the path, the two men walking in companionable silence. After a moment, Dean spoke again. 

“Don Castiel, I have been meaning to ask you a question that has been on my heart for some time.”

Castiel looked at him, his own heart tripping over itself. He had a fair idea of what the other Don was about to say, but it was not something he was prepared for. 

Sure enough, Dean’s next words were exactly what Castiel had hoped he would not hear.

“I have been seeking to settle down,” the Don admitted quietly. “My father has high hopes that I will find a suitable partner and bring him grandchildren.” He paused, seeming to be at a loss. Castiel, however, saw through to what he was trying to say.

“You do not seek a wife,” he said softly.

“My father is a difficult man to understand, Don Castiel,” the other man replied pensively, as they turned the corner. “My mother perished when I was only a small boy, and I believe that he lost part of what made him feel alive when she passed. He has never been the same since. When I went abroad to study, he seemed content, but now that I have returned, he seems to take little pleasure in the knowledge I have gained.” Dean sighed. “Or perhaps he takes little pleasure in his only son.”

Castiel lightly touched Don Dean’s arm. “I am certain that Don Juan is quite proud of you, Don Dean. You are his child.”

Dean sighed. “I pray that you are right...in all things.”

Don Castiel’s eyes were compassionate. He had been raised in an orphanage; a father was never mentioned nor seen, and his mother had died of cholera. Many times he had yearned for the approval of a father and the sweet, comforting touch of a mother, and to think Don Juan was somehow causing his son to believe that he was not worthy of affection or attention stirred disappointment and pity in his soul for the other man. Castiel was also aware of the predicament that Dean was in. Castiel had been raised to understand that love showed itself in many forms, and it was not anyone’s place to judge such love. Don Juan, however, came from a very different line of thinking, and it appeared that had also caused his son much personal pain. 

Dean huffed as they reached the main entrance to the mission. 

“Please cease your scrutiny of me, Don Castiel. It is highly unnerving.”

Castiel inclined his head. “I am sorry.” He paused as Dean reached into the saddlebag of the horse he had rode in on and withdrew a slim book, an easy child’s reader for the session with the natives. The other Don’s shoulders tensed.

“Your silence is uncomfortable,” he said rather pointedly as he turned around again, and Castiel looked at the ground, the dirt beaten into a myriad of shapes by the passing of hooves, feet, and carts. 

“Don Dean...were you speaking the truth earlier?”

Dean appeared confused, and then his face paled. 

“I...did not expect an answer, Don Castiel. That is--well…”

The flush that was slowly creeping up the sides of Dean’s neck toward his ears was completely endearing, and Castiel could not help but move closer, noticing how the other man’s breathing seemed to increase at their proximity to one another. Castiel’s voice was low.

“If you mean to ask if I would be interested in courting you, I would say yes, Don Dean. But my heart belongs to another.”

At that, Dean seemed to deflate, his eyes and expression becoming stoic, and Castiel ached for the abrupt change. Formally, the Don said, “I see. I have not meant to offend you, Don Castiel. I pray that you will be happy with your chosen beloved.”

Castiel smiled wistfully, sadness tightening his throat. “I fear that I shall never have that pleasure. My...beloved...is unable to commit himself fully to me. I will always have a place in his heart, but to own all of it is something that must remain only a dream.”

Dean seemed surprised by Castiel’s choice of pronouns, and Castiel said simply, “I too have secrets, Dean.”

The other Don cleared his throat. “If I may be so bold...who is the one who has stolen your heart?”

Castiel turned his face up to the bright sun, closing his eyes for a moment to feel its warmth. The words tumbled from his mouth without restraint.

“El Zorro, the Fox. I shall forever be his, even if he is never mine.”

***

Dean paced in his room as evening’s light bathed the courtyard in a swath of pink and gold. Castiel’s earlier confessions had thrown what was proving to be a very interesting wrench into the battle of wits between himself and Miguel.

Oh, he had known from the moment they had kissed that Don Castiel was in love with him, but to hear from the other man’s own mouth the depths of passion, trust, and devotion was something Don Dean had not expected.

_ The Fox,  _ Dean mentally corrected himself.  _ Castiel is in love with El Zorro, not Don Dean de Winchester. _

Dean noted that he would do well to encourage that lie, and God help him if he were ever to let his true persona slip through. 

It was not that he did not trust Castiel; on the contrary, Dean was certain that he would be able to store a dead body at the mission with nary a word from the blue-eyed man. It was simply that there was too much at stake. And if Miguel was to learn whose face hid behind the mask of a hero, everything Dean had worked so hard to secure and protect would burn at his feet, leaving behind nothing but ashes and dust.

“Dean! Where is your mind,  _ hijo _ ? Have you not heard me?!”

Startled, Dean jerked around. In his doorway stood Juan, arms crossed over his chest as he gazed at Dean with a decidedly furious look.

“I apologize, Father.” It was time to play the part of a foolish son. “I’ve been trying to compose a tune in my head for quite some time now, and it simply won’t be written. Perhaps later, I could play you some of the--”

“Ah!” Juan threw up his hands, exasperated and, it appeared, frightened. That alone was enough to give Dean serious pause. Don Juan was not a man given to fits of nervousness, and never to alarm. He had always maintained a cool head in the face of whatever might be occurring at that moment.

“Father? What has happened?” Dean asked, with a sick sense of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. Whatever the issue was, he knew that it was going to be very, very bad.

He was right.

Juan crossed his arms again, though this time, it seemed to be more of a way to keep his hands from shaking. 

“I have just received word that Miguel and his officers are attempting to root out El Zorro from every hiding place possible. They have already gone through the town and arrested seven people--hardly surprising given Miguel’s nature, but distressing nonetheless. At the moment, they are at the church. They’ve already taken the natives, and Miguel, God save his wicked soul, is threatening to burn the church to the ground if the Fox does not appear within the hour.”

         Dean stared at Don Juan in horror. “Father, El Zorro cannot be called to appear like the rabbit of a magician. He does so when he decides the time is right.”

Juan began to pace. “I know this well, my son. I only pray that he realizes the lives that are at stake.” His expression was deeply troubled. “If there has ever been a time when the Fox was needed more than he knows, it is now.”

A terrible thought suddenly entered the younger Don’s mind, and he said thickly, “Father, where is Don Castiel?”

Don Juan looked up gravely. “At the mission. I am certain that Miguel is holding him hostage as well.”

Dean’s heart leapt into his throat, and the fear he felt must have shown on his face. Juan peered at him, seeming to put two and two together, but said only, “Why do you still stand here? You must ride, my son. Ride, and find the Fox!”

Dean waited until he was certain Juan had left to gather the other Dons, and after that it was only a matter of time before Impala was galloping hard across the valley, El Zorro high in the saddle atop her. 

***

“Miguel, please,” the Padre begged, as the Capitàn’s soldiers held him fast, forcing him to watch the natives being herded like cattle away from the mission onto waiting carts. “This is against God!”

Miguel’s eyes were like the cold steel of a blade as he stared at the priest. 

“Oh? I had thought your god was the Fox.”

The Padre’s eyes widened, and Miguel smiled grimly. “Oh, yes, Padre, he will come. He must come,” he added in a snarl, “for if he does not, this church will be nothing but ash.”

The Padre gasped. 

“You would not dare, Miguel! Think of your soul!”

“To hell with my soul!” the Capitàn roared, and in that moment, another voice was heard, full of warning.

“I agree wholeheartedly, Miguel. However, I am inclined to try to save whatever may be left of it.”

Slowly, the Capitàn turned to face El Zorro, who stood mere feet away, hand on his rapier. Miguel laughed devilishly. 

“So the famed savior of California has answered my summons.”

Zorro’s eyes were icy. “I answer to but one authority, Miguel, and you are hardly it. Let these innocents go, and we shall solve our own dispute.”

Miguel paused for a moment, and then grinned. 

“I shall have to decline your invitation.”

Before the Fox could stop him, the Capitàn had grabbed a nearby piece of wood, struck a match, and flung the firebrand through one of the mission’s open windows.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

The church was many years old, with dry timber that had been culled from forests no longer living. Immediately the acrid smell of smoke filled the air, and popping could be heard as the flames took hold, climbing up the sides of the doors and licking at the roof. The Padre moaned in horror, sagging in the soldiers’ arms, and immediately Zorro was on the ground.

“You’ve made a grave mistake, Miguel,” he said in fury, but the Capitàn only chuckled. 

“Have I? I would suggest that you cease to argue with me, and instead search the church.”

The Fox whirled, only then realizing that Don Castiel was not among the group outside. That could mean only one terrible thing, and without a second thought, Zorro had flung himself into the inferno.

***

Don Castiel leaned weakly against the banister leading to the choir loft, his eyes watering and lungs filling with the poisonous stench of carbon monoxide. He had hid like a coward when Miguel and his troops arrived, and now it appeared he would die like one.

Gazing at the statue of the Blessed Virgin through burning vision, Castiel prayed,  _ Sweet Mary, mother of our Lord, forgive me of my sins, and welcome me into thy eternal embrace… _

A darkness suddenly enveloped him, and Castiel closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift towards it. In his last moments of consciousness, he imagined he heard the voice of the Fox.

_ “You are safe, Don Castiel. You must stay in the land of the living...Don Castiel…” _

***

By the time the fire brigade arrived, Miguel and his soldiers were long gone, and the church was utterly engulfed. The Padre sat on the ground, his expression dull as he was given water, watching the nightmare unfold before him.

“Gone,” he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. “All gone. How can this be? What kind of monster is the Capitàn, that he would destroy a parish?”

“Padre!”

Tiredly, the priest turned his head to see Don Dean forcing his way past the fire fighting line. The young man knelt at his side, taking hold of his hand.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, his eyes horrified as he watched the church’s westward-facing wall collapse inward. “The Capitàn’s soul is in danger of hellfire for this cruel act. It is a miracle of God no one was injured.”

The Padre sighed mournfully. “Dean, Don Castiel was inside when the fire began.”

Dean’s face paled, and he swayed on his knees. “And is he…”

“No, my son.” The Padre rushed to reassure the young man. “El Zorro rescued him.”

Don Dean swallowed thickly. “Where is Don Castiel now?”

“El Zorro brought him to your home. Don Juan is watching over him. I suggest you return there.”

“Thank you, Padre.” Clumsily, the Don stood, and the Padre noticed his hands were shaking. “Will you be alright?”

“I am being well taken care of presently, Dean, and our Lord will help me through the rest of this difficulty. Go now.”

***

“Father? Father!”

Don Juan met his frantic son in the study, holding up his hands. 

“Hush,  _ hijo. _ The doctor is with Don Castiel.”

Juan watched as his son sank into a chair, leaning forward and clasping his hands together tightly. His mouth was set in a tight line, and his shoulders shook.

“Dean,” Juan said gently, “there is little we can do but pray. Were it not for El Zorro, there would be no need for the doctor except to pronounce time of death. We owe him our sincere thanks.”

Dean put his face in his hands, and Juan sighed, perching on the chair closest to his son. For some moments he struggled with how to approach the subject, and then began to speak.

“I know that I have not always been the father you would have liked me to be,” he said quietly. “With the death of your mother, I lost part of myself. Yet in no way should that have been a reflection on you. I see that now, Dean. My aim was to protect you from further hurt, and in doing so I alienated you. My sole focus became drink and solitude, when it should have been my only son.” Juan swallowed. “I ask your forgiveness for my shortcomings.”

Dean looked up, something like hope in his eyes, and it gave Juan the courage to continue.

“I have always loved you, my son. Though there have been times--too many times--when it seemed as though I did not, I beg you not to question my affection for you. I shall aim to be a better father from this day forward. I give you my word.”

Dean’s eyes glistened with emotion, and he spoke through a tight throat. “Thank you, Father. Your words are precious to me.”

Dean rose, and for the first time in many years, the two men embraced. Juan felt the trembling increase in his son’s form, and gently stroked his back. 

“We shall move through this together, Dean,” he promised.

“Don Juan?”

Dean pulled away, and Juan turned to face the physician. “How is Don Castiel?”

“I have given him a calming tincture, and he is quieter now. However, the Don is far from safe. He is suffering from severe heat exhaustion, and he has inhaled quite a bit of smoke. It is something that bears watching. I suggest that Don Castiel stay here and rest until he heals fully.”

Juan nodded. “Our home is his for as long as it is necessary.”

“May I see him?”

The doctor peered at Don Dean. “I suppose. I would suggest that the visit not last longer than five minutes. Too much excitement is a hindrance to him during this time. Be aware, however, that he may not be awake at this moment.”

Dean glanced at Juan, who gave a nod. “Go on, my son.”

***

The way that Don Castiel lay in his own bed, so still and weak, made Dean’s heart ache. Softly, he crossed the room to kneel at the other man’s bedside, and after a moment, took Castiel’s hand in both of his own, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. Certain that Castiel could not hear, he began to speak.

“El Zorro has failed you,” he said in hushed tones. “The duty of any hero is to serve and protect the innocent, and in that, he has misjudged the situation at hand severely.”

The Don did not awaken, and Dean swallowed tightly. 

“I have known from the moment that I first laid eyes on your kind face I was lost. You, above all, did not deserve this tragedy. Had I truly understood what was at stake, I would have done more to protect you. I have broken one of the Commandments; one that I have revered from my youth. I have borne false witness, Castiel, and not only against you, but against all in this pueblo.” Dean took a breath. 

“I am the Fox,” he whispered. “Forgive me for hiding--from my people, and from you. I fear that my heart is caught in your grasp, and it shall never be removed from it.” The Don bowed his head. “Should you perish, El Zorro perishes with you.”

***

Castiel opened his eyes to bright sunlight spilling across an unfamiliar set of bedclothes, and frowned in confusion, gazing around the tastefully decorated room. His eyes widened when he saw Don Dean sprawled in a chair next to the bed, his head upon the top rung, fast asleep. 

Attempting to rise, Castiel was taken aback by a sharp pain in his ribcage and chest area, and let out a soft gasp, falling back against the sheets.

Dean stirred, his green eyes lighting upon Castiel, hazy from his repose. Suddenly they cleared, and the other man swallowed.

“Don Castiel,” he said softly. “Our Lord has truly worked a miracle in your case.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, Don Dean. Whose home is this, and why am I here?”

Castiel watched as Dean’s gaze suddenly became guarded. “You do not recall?”

The other Don hesitated. “Should I?”

Dean looked away for a moment. “Capitàn Miguel set the Padre’s church afire, and you were inside at the time. It is highly spoken of that El Zorro saved you.”

Castiel gasped. “What of the natives? The Padre? And is the church...” He could not bring himself to finish, fearing the worst.

Dean alleviated only a small amount of that fear. “The Padre will be fine, and the natives formed a mutiny against the Capitàn’s soldiers, all escaping unharmed. They have been found and are back in the Padre’s care. Unfortunately, the parish is an utter loss.”

Castiel sank further into the pillows, his face pale, and Dean rose. 

“You should rest, Don Castiel,” he said gently. “The doctor will be in to see you this morning, I am certain.”

He turned to leave, but Castiel called after him quietly. 

“Don Dean...I fear I may have a fever memory.”

Dean turned back to face the other man, and Castiel noticed that his posture was very stiff. “What do you believe is in this memory?”

“You,” Castiel said softly, without preamble. “Perhaps it was only my mind deceiving me, yet…”

Dean waited, and when Castiel spoke again, the Don knew he had no chance to run or make feeble excuses.

“Your eyes...beneath the mask of one I love, carrying me to safety. And then your voice, sharing your most intimate secret.” Anxiously, Castiel whispered, “Have I truly dreamed this, Don Dean?”

“Close your eyes, Don Castiel,” Dean replied gently, after a pause.

Castiel could hear movement about the room, but dared not open his lids for fear that what was occurring was not truly real. When the movement ceased, Dean spoke again.

“Look at me.”

Castiel opened his eyes. Immediately, his heart leapt into his throat, and he gripped the bedclothes tightly.

“El Zorro,” he breathed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Truly, Castiel did not know why he was so surprised. Looking back, the signs that Dean was the Fox had been so blatant even a small child would have been able to detect them. 

“Are you frightened?” Dean-- _ Zorro _ \--asked in low tones, and for the first time in many months, a true smile graced the other man’s lips.

“How can I fear the one that I love?”

Dean looked at him gravely. “No one may know, not even my father. Should it find the ears of Miguel that Don Juan’s fool of a son is his archenemy, there will be hell to pay, Castiel.”

The way that the other Don said his name made Castiel shiver slightly. It rolled off his tongue like honey, and now that he was truly listening, the Don’s voice was beautiful to hear, sounding like smoke and dark rum.

Dean reached up to remove his mask, but Castiel met his gaze head on.

“Allow me?”

It was more of a question than anything else, and Dean knelt by the bed once more. No words were exchanged, but permission had already been given some time ago. 

Carefully, Castiel untied the knot at the back of Dean’s head, letting the mask slip to the floor, and on impulse, traced the outline of the other man’s mouth, reveling in the feel of harsh stubble against his fingertips. Dean watched his movements silently, his eyes a lush forest green.

“God help me, Don Castiel,” he said quietly, “but I fear that my current thoughts toward you are highly inappropriate.”

Castiel did not stop the downward trail of his fingers until they reached the ties holding the black tunic closed, murmuring, “As are mine.”

Dean caught Castiel’s wrist in a loose grip, saying only, “You are still recovering.”

Castiel’s own eyes, the color of a cloudless sky on a warm summer day, filled with tears.

“I have never known a love such as this,” he whispered. “I beg you, do not leave me to languish in it.”

“I cannot--”

“Bed me,” Castiel beseeched him. “Please.”

Dean hesitated only a moment before allowing Castiel to slip the tunic off, which revealed Dean’s broad chest and strong shoulders, leading down to a finely chiseled abdomen. Castiel swallowed as he saw the fine trail of dark hair that led from his navel, and Dean tipped his chin up.

“I have no plans to harm you,” he reassured him softly, but the Don shook his head.

“You are hardly a rascal,” he replied. Dean chuckled low, and the sound sent an unexpected jolt of heat through Castiel’s belly.

“I would not classify me as an angel just yet,  _ querido. _ ” Growing serious, he murmured, “Are you certain this is what you wish?”

“I have wanted nothing else from the moment I laid eyes upon the Fox,” Castiel replied. “Knowing that he is, in reality, my closest friend does nothing to diminish my desire.”

When their lips met, Castiel melted into the kiss. If it were possible, Dean seemed to have become more of an expert at making the other Don’s knees weak.

“Lay back,” Dean whispered against his mouth, and Castiel complied immediately, trusting that Dean would fulfill his promise to keep him safe. 

A gentle bite to his ear made another rush of heat slide through Castiel’s veins. Though he was not aware of it, he must have made a sound, for Dean’s palm caressed his cheek.

“Hush,  _ amado. _ ” His expression was lovingly mischievous. “We have hardly begun.”

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders as the other man settled atop him, gazing up into Dean’s handsome face. Knowing that he had the privilege of enjoying an intimate relationship with the man the rest of Spanish California only saw glimpses of brought joy to his heart, and he found that fear, if he had ever harbored any, had all but vanished.

Somehow, while he had been thinking, Dean had made quick work of the rest of their clothes, and Castiel’s breath caught at the feel of soft skin upon his own. This was so far removed from Miguel’s acts of “love” that he could not even begin to compare the two.

Dean gazed down at him, his expression sincere. “If there is something that I should do to cause you discomfort or fear, you must tell me.”

Castiel laughed quietly, surprising the other man. “The only discomfort and fear I am feeling stems from the fact that I will be in quite a position of shame should Don Juan discover our activities.”

Dean chuckled. “I am quite certain that my father already has an inkling of his son’s...predispositions, shall we say. At any rate, he is presently in town, and shall not be returning for quite some time today.”

Castiel reached out and caught hold of Dean’s hips, switching the mood at once from lighthearted to deeply erotic. 

“Then perhaps we should cease to squander the time we are afforded,” he said, blue eyes gone nearly gray with arousal, and Dean’s own eyes lit with a fiery passion.

This time, their kiss was harsh, nearly desperate. Dean’s hands had begun to wander, and Castiel could hardly breathe for the excitement that coursed through him. He threw himself into the moment, losing all sense of reality for long moments as they simply explored one another through touch. At last, Castiel found that it was not enough, and he said as much.

Dean pulled back slightly, enough so that Castiel could see the hesitation on his face. 

“I do not wish to conjure evil memories for you,” he said softly.

“While I appreciate your kindness,” Castiel replied quietly, “there is only one man on this earth that can do such a thing, and you are certainly not him. I trust you implicitly, and...” He paused, struggling to determine how to word what he felt, and then finished, “I wish to be joined to you in every way possible.”

Those were the very words that Dean seemed to have been waiting to hear, and he placed his hands on either side of Castiel’s knees, gently drawing them apart.

“Your faith in me is humbling,” he whispered, and Castiel laced their fingers together.

“I can think of no one else that I would rather give myself to. Whether you are the Fox or Don Dean de Winchester, you have my love, my devotion, and my heart, now until eternity.”

Dean’s throat worked with emotion. He was not used to having anyone tell him such things--indeed, he had never been open to relationships, as much as El Zorro my have enticed the hearts of so many--but Don Castiel had broken down every standing wall he had erected and shown himself to be someone that could be given full reign in Dean’s life, mind, heart, and will. He could not find a suitable reply that would encompass all that he felt, so instead, he chose to show Castiel his heart in the only way that he knew how.

Castiel gasped as Dean’s fingers closed around his manhood, and his back arched, the intense feeling of pleasurable touch almost too much to bear. He was no fool--he knew what felt right and good to himself, but for someone else to be so ridiculously attuned to what made him tick...well, he could barely contain himself.

Dean was smiling. “I take it that I am doing things correctly?”

Castiel could only moan in response as the Don began a long, slow stroke, teasing and yet firm at the same time. He was hard pressed not to offer himself up wantonly, yet the sensations that were coursing through his body left him trembling and filled with an aching fire that demanded to be quenched. 

Dean watched Castiel with hooded eyes. He had imagined this moment for many years, but he had always dreamed of a woman who would open herself to him, physically and emotionally. Yet he found that he wasn’t in the least bit deterred or disappointed in the events as they were currently playing out. Don Castiel was everything that he had ever wanted, in every way possible, and Dean would allow his life to be taken from him before he saw harm come to the gentle soul that now inhabited his bed. 

He wondered briefly if his father had already come to the conclusion that Castiel was more than a friendly face and someone to be counted on in times of need. Don Juan had never been an oblivious man, and Dean suspected that he had known from the beginning that Castiel would eventually capture his son’s heart. It remained to be seen whether Don Juan had deduced that same son lay behind the guise of El Zorro. When the time came, Dean could only pray that the necessary deception would not change their relationship...or destroy the lives of everyone in the pueblo. Miguel was ruthless and quite close to, if not an utter, lunatic, and Dean feared the repercussions his lie might bring upon the lives of all those he held dear--Castiel included.

The light touch of a hand upon his face drew Dean from his reverie. Castiel’s eyes were gentle.

“You are no longer present with me,” he said softly. Though the statement held no malice, Dean flinched. 

“Forgive me. I...think of things that do not belong in this moment.”

The other man held his gaze. 

“Am I remiss in assuming that Miguel, and his attempts to ruin the lives of everyone involved with El Zorro, are what overtakes your mind?”

Dean sighed, bowing his head. “I am sorry. This is hardly the time to dwell on the negative aspects of the situation.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s fingers slid underneath his chin. “I understood the risks of being in love with a man such as the Fox well before I discovered that his was the face of my dearest friend. I know the madness of Miguel, but I will not abandon you now. You must believe this--as Dean, and as El Zorro. There are many in the pueblo who would fight for you, no matter the cost.”

Dean’s eyes seemed to be filled with a resignation that ran deep, and it hurt Castiel to see it.

“My heart cannot bear the loss of so many--not when their deaths would be upon the shoulders of a man sworn to protect them.”

He did not say that he knew the Capitàn would destroy Castiel in as many ways as possible before making him beg for death, just to cause the Fox to surrender--and surrender he would, without question. Dean had almost lost the other Don once; to know he was truly gone, beyond his reach, would be more than he could bear. 

Miguel and El Zorro, he knew, were on a collision course, hurtling towards something infinitely personal and highly charged. Where they would both end up, and who would be left standing, was yet to be seen.

Castiel’s mouth on his own, soft and yielding, immediately washed away all thoughts of the Capitàn and his crazed plans. Dean replied in kind, flicking his tongue against the seam of Castiel’s lips, and the other man opened to him without hesitation, starting a slow, sensuous dance that set Dean’s heart racing with desire. 

A tender hand slipped between his legs to caress the bulging sac there, and Dean broke the kiss, his vision clouded with all the stars of the heavens at once. When he could focus again, the smile Castiel sent him was wicked and sly.

“Are you certain that you are as inexperienced as you plead?” Dean said breathlessly, and Castiel chuckled.

“There were others, before Miguel,” he replied. “I suppose I should have made that known.” Growing serious, he added quietly, “Yet none were as important to me as you.”

Gazing down at the other Don’s smiling, handsome face, Dean’s heart swelled. Barely able to stand the overwhelming atmosphere of sincerity, kindness, and love in the room, he swept down to capture Castiel’s mouth again.

So enraptured was Castiel that he did not notice the slick feeling of preparatory oils. It was only when the Don began to slide inside of him that he gasped. 

Dean ceased to move at once, a frown creasing his brow.

“Have I injured you?” His voice held great concern.

Castiel took a breath, closing his eyes briefly. “No.” When they opened again, they were focused entirely on Dean. “It has been some time, but that hardly means I wish to stop.”

“Are you certain?” Dean still seemed hesitant, and Castiel took that moment to rear up, thoroughly connecting them together. The other man’s breath punched out of him in a rush, and his head fell to his chest as he trembled.

“Does it feel as though I am reluctant?” Castiel murmured.

Dean seemed to still be attempting to gain back his oxygen. Castiel did not let him rest for long before driving upwards again, and again, until the two were sweating from exertion and shaking with effort.

Castiel’s thighs had tightened in a vise-like grip around Dean’s hips, and his fingers were carving sharp red lines down the other man’s back, causing small groans to fall from Dean’s lips as he fought to hold himself back. But Castiel was determined to not be left behind in the race to their completion, and he wriggled a hand between them to touch what he could of the Don’s pulsating shaft. Feeling the way Dean was pistoning in and out of him made a needy whine, one that he would have been ashamed of otherwise, flee his mouth.

“Don Castiel,” his lover moaned, and fire licked hotly up and down Castiel’s spine, settling at the base of it, and causing him to nearly bite through the webbing of his right thumb and forefinger when he flung his arm up to stifle any sounds he was making.

But Dean was having none of it, tugging that arm down with a breathless plea.

“ _ Dejame ver tu cara. _ ”

Castiel could do nothing but oblige him, and what he saw in the other Don’s eyes drove him over the edge, his body lighting up like a thousand barrels of tripped gunpowder. He heard rough, needy sounds, and belatedly, realized that it was he who was making them.

Dean’s back bowed as he gave his essence to Castiel, a low, drawn-out groan escaping through his clenched teeth, and for the second time that day, Castiel’s restraint was broken as he gave in to that same heat flooding every joint, muscle, and sinew, something between a wail and a sob wrenching itself from his throat.

For many moments, there was only the sound of their labored breathing, and then Dean carefully rolled to the side from where he had collapsed bonelessly on top of the Don. Castiel winced as Dean withdrew from inside of him, receiving a concerned stare in return.

“Have I injured you?”

“Never,” Castiel breathed, trailing trembling fingers lightly down Dean’s cheek. “I am only attempting to recover.”

Dean’s full lips quirked upwards in a smile, and he caught Castiel’s hand, pressing a gentle kiss to each fingertip. 

“Am I to assume, then, that our lovemaking was satisfactory?”

Castiel chuckled, settling comfortably under the warm blankets and Dean’s arm. “Completely.”

“ _ Bueno _ .” Dean fell silent, stroking his long, elegant fingers through Castiel’s damp locks, the touch making Castiel’s eyelids flutter closed as he hummed contentedly.

Dean watched as Castiel slipped into dreams, his limbs going lax as he breathed slowly and deeply. While he was relaxed enough to sleep as well, he did not, choosing instead to simply watch the other man. A sense of awe and wonder filled him that Castiel would choose him, knowing the danger...and yet was willing to brave it anyway, all for the sake of love.

Dean only prayed that he would be worthy of such love.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Don Juan entered the  _ hacienda _ to find it strangely quiet. He frowned.

Usually, he could hear his son moving about, either playing a new piece he had written or practicing his fencing. But there was no sound.

Juan shrugged; perhaps Dean had chosen to doze in the  _ sala _ with another of his thick books. A distraction would do him good, Juan thought. He had hardly moved from Don Castiel’s side for a week.

However, upon further inspection, Dean was not in any of the places Juan had thought he might be. A stab of worry piercing his heart, the older Don was about to search for him again when he noticed the door to his son’s room was ajar.

_ Odd, _ he thought.  _ I had closed it. _

Something in the back of his mind told him that he should walk away that instant and let the matter be, but he found his feet gently crossing the floorboards before he could stop himself.

What Juan saw when he peered around the frame was something he would remember for the rest of his life.

His son--his pride and joy, his heart, his very soul--lay tangled around another, very  _ male  _ body in the bed, sleeping soundly. The state of the room and the bedclothes left nothing to the imagination as to what had happened. There was no doubt as to who the other occupant of the bed was.

Although that in itself was taking some time for Juan to digest--though he had long suspected it--the largest shock came from what he saw draped over Dean’s writing chair.

A pair of black breeches and tunic, a mask, and a beautiful, very expensive, highly recognizable  _ cordobès _ .

Don Juan knew exactly what he would find were he to open the small chest underneath the window--a long, sharpened rapier and a bullwhip--and his throat was suddenly very dry. Dean, his bookish, quiet son who seemed to not have an ounce of fight in him...was none other than El Zorro?

Juan realized with a start that a pair of blue eyes were staring at him from within the protective cocoon of Dean’s arm. Castiel shook his head minutely when Juan opened his mouth.

_ Please,  _ they seemed to say.  _ Do not speak of it yet. _

With a quiet sigh, Juan gave a nod. Castiel smiled gratefully, settling back against Dean’s chest and closing his eyes once more. Juan took the signal for what it was, slipping out of the room and heading back down the stairs, his mind reeling.

Why had Dean not told him the truth? That fact stung deeply, but if Juan was being truthful with himself, he hadn’t exactly given his son a reason to open up to him until recently. Still, he could not help the twinge of hurt that filled him. 

As far as Dean’s sexual preferences were concerned...while Juan had long suspected there would never be a wife or grandchildren, to see the evidence literally laid out before him had been somewhat of a shock. However, he would not allow bigotry to affect what seemed, at least from external appearances, to be a loving, healthy relationship. 

Juan let his head hit the back of the chair he was sitting in with a gentle  _ thump _ as he realized what, exactly, the entire matter meant. If Don Castiel knew his son’s secret, then Miguel would surely discover it as well...and when that occurred, no one would be safe.

***  
The last of the sun’s rays caught Dean behind his closed eyelids, and he muttered something unintelligible, flinging an arm up to protect his smarting vision. From the direction of his writing desk, he heard Castiel’s gentle voice. 

“Good evening, beloved.”

Cracking an eye, Dean murmured, “What is the time?”

The bed dipped as Castiel sat on its edge, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips, enjoying the fluttering of the other man’s eyelashes against his cheek. 

“It is nearly nightfall. Your father has been back from town for some hours now.”

At the mention of Don Juan, Dean let out an undignified yelp, scrambling up from the sheets. Castiel laughed as they pooled around his feet, nearly tripping the other man in his haste to reach the armoire where his clothes resided. 

“Dean, calm yourself,” he chuckled. “He does not know the full extent as to what has transpired...yet.”

Dean paused, leveling Castiel with a cool stare. “Yet?”

Castiel sighed, rising to meet him, all mirth gone. “Don Juan witnessed us this afternoon. No,” he began, as Dean’s hands came up to cover his face with a groan, a flush coloring his neck. “He did not see our lovemaking, but he knows.”

“Knows?” Dean’s hands dropped, all color draining from him immediately. “He has discovered the truth?”

Only a fool would not have been able to understand what the words meant, and Castiel nodded, gently taking Dean’s hands in his own.

“Don Juan is aware his son is the Fox, yes. But I do not think he will approach the subject at this time.”

Dean’s fingers tightened around his own. “For your sake, I pray not.”

Castiel swallowed. He had not forgotten Miguel’s murderous threats, nor his dishonorable intentions toward him. The very thought that the Capitàn might make good on them was enough to send shivers rolling down Castiel’s spine.

Dean tipped his chin up, his forest green eyes bright with determination.

“Miguel will not harm you, Castiel. Should he desire anyone’s life to take, I will give him mine.”

The words should have been a fierce declaration of love, yet Castiel could not help but feel the cold fingers of foreboding clench around his heart.

***

Don Juan looked up as his son and Castiel entered the foyer that led to the  _ sala _ , watching intently as the two men talked in soft tones, oblivious to the older Don’s presence. He could clearly see the devotion they carried for one another, and when they paused in order that Dean could cup Castiel’s face in his palms, Juan discreetly turned back to the letters on his desk.

“Hello, Father.”

Dean stood a bit stiffly, as if he expected Juan to lash out at him on the spot, but the other man said simply, “Dinner is served. Come, both of you.”

Dean’s eyes widened slightly at the inclusion of Castiel, but he allowed Don Juan to lead the way to the dining room, where their cook, Rosita, had just finished setting down steaming plates of quail, crocks of sweet gravy, rolls, a variety of vegetables fresh from the garden, and two bottles of dry Spanish wine. Don Juan smiled at her, and she ducked her head with a small curtsy, leaving the men alone to eat.

Don Juan spoke nonchalantly as he speared a portion of quail, layering it with a serving of vegetables and gravy.

“Do you have plans to stay with us, Don Castiel?”

From across the table, Dean froze as he reached for the wine, but if Juan noticed, he ignored it.

“I am certain that my son could use some companionship,” Juan continued, making a show of cutting into the meat to hide the growing smirk on his face. “It has been some time since he has found a love-”

“Father!” Dean implored, sending him a pleading look. “This is hardly proper dinner conversation.”

Don Juan laughed out loud then, startling Dean into open-mouthed silence. It had been many years since Juan had found anything to be worthy of humor.

Wiping his eyes, Juan chuckled, “You must forgive me, my son. But you are far from a good keeper of secrets.”

Even Castiel could not keep the smile from his lips, and Dean frowned at Juan.

“What is it that you are trying to say, Father?”

Juan settled back against the chair, turning his gaze upon his son. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became quite serious.

“I was not born yesterday, Dean _. _ I am well aware that you and Don Castiel have begun a relationship that was consummated today.”

Dean flushed scarlet, but Juan continued.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” he said firmly, “yet I would remind you that Capitàn Miguel is still seeking Don Castiel, even at this very hour.”

Castiel paled slightly, and Juan shook his head. “I will never let harm come to either of you as long as I am able, but Miguel, while he is a coward, is a ruthless one. If he cannot destroy someone himself, he will send others to do his work.” Juan’s gaze landed squarely upon his son.

“Do not believe that the Fox is safe, either. The hatred Miguel holds for our hero would surely burn him alive, if it were possible.” He paused, his eyes locked onto Dean’s.

“Do you understand me,  _ hijo _ ?”

Dean swallowed. He did, and the prospect that Castiel or his father could be eradicated from the earth just to break him was a frightening one, indeed, but...

“I will not allow those most precious to me to be harmed,” were the words that left his mouth, and Juan’s eyes turned very, very sad. He rose from the table without a word, and confused, Dean ventured, “Father? What is it?”

“Don Juan?” Castiel asked softly, just as puzzled, and Juan’s hands shook where they fiddled with a cigar. 

“I said the same, once,” he began quietly. “I was young and a fool, and lost that which I never imagined I would lose.”

Dean did not want to ask, but he knew he had no choice. Rising as well, he placed a hand on Juan’s shoulder. “What did you lose, Father?”

Juan’s eyes were heavy with grief when he looked up at his son.

“Your mother.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Shocked, Dean let his hand drop. Castiel watched their interaction silently from his place at the table, his heart aching for the two men.

“Mother?” Dean asked in a whisper, after a few moments. “You never speak of her.”

Juan’s eyes filled with tears, stunning the young man further. 

“After her death, I could not bring myself to mention her name. It was my doing that she was gone, and speaking of her only accentuated the pain that I felt.”

“Father…” Dean spoke hesitantly. “What happened?”

Juan lit the cigar and pulled in a long lungful of bluish-gray smoke, releasing it with a trembling sigh, and then began the tale.

“I met your mother on a warm summer evening thirty years ago at Don Jacobo’s  _ hacienda _ . She had just arrived from England, and was staying at the mission as a guest. This was her first true taste of Spanish California and all its wonders, and she was already enamored with our part of the world. As I left the church one morning, I caught sight of her, and my heart was instantly in her grasp.”

Dean did not miss the longing in his father’s tone, and he swallowed hard, glancing at Castiel.

“Don Jacobo invited nearly all of the pueblo over for his birthday celebration, and was kind enough to extend an invitation to your mother as well. When I saw her standing in his  _ vestìbulo,  _ surrounded by Jacobo and a few other Dons, I was mesmerized. 

“Her golden hair had been swept up, and the dress...it was beautiful,  _ hijo.  _ All red silk and black lace; the local tailor had made it especially for this occasion--a true Spanish garment. As soon as our eyes met, she smiled at me, and every other woman in the room disappeared from my vision. I spent the rest of the evening talking to and learning about her, and when it was time to depart, I found myself extremely disappointed.

“We kept contact--publicly, of course; a man does not court a woman in private--and three months later, she agreed to become my wife.” Juan’s voice broke before he could catch himself, and Castiel rose from the table.

“Perhaps this should wait for another time, Don Juan,” he said gently, but the other Don shook his head, once.

“No,” he rasped. “You must know. Both of you.”

“What should we know, Father?” Dean said quietly, not enjoying the feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Juan swallowed, his gaze far away.

“There was another that loved her,” he said. “I did not know until the day of our marriage, when he burst through the church doors and interrupted the ceremony, begging your mother to leave me for him. She refused, of course, and the change was instant. His eyes became nothing more than small, angry slits, and he turned on his heel. Before he retreated, he spoke with a force so cold that everyone present felt it. 

“ ‘You shall regret the day you scorned me.’ He said nothing else, and left immediately after. At the time, I believed the words to be nothing more than those of a jilted, would-be lover.” 

“They were more.” Dean’s voice was a murmur, and a tear slid from the corner of Juan’s right eye.

“They were,” he whispered brokenly. “I did not realize the extent of his madness until your fourth birthday, when I left town for the day to attend to business matters.” He swayed slightly, and Dean immediately moved to steady him. Juan, however, waved him off, swallowing thickly.

“I returned to find the  _ hacienda  _ alight, slowly being consumed in a raging blaze. Despite the warning cries I received, I threw myself into our home to rescue my wife and child.” Juan began to weep openly.

“I could only save one, and she begged me to take you. I managed to escape with you before the walls and roof collapsed. The taste of her last kiss is still with me in my nightmares--smoke and ash. I received second-degree burns that night, but the pain of them slowly faded over time. The agony of losing Mary...my sweet, my  _ corazòn _ ...will never pass away.”

It was the first time Dean had heard his mother’s name, and he felt the beauty of it encircle him like an embrace, his mind begging him to let the matter rest at what he had been told. But there was an insistent buzzing at the back of his skull; a small voice that demanded something was  _ not right _ . 

It took Dean three tries before he could speak; all the while, Juan continued to weep, his face turned away in shame.

“Father, Mother was...murdered, was she not?”

At the word, Juan’s legs buckled, and Castiel leapt to catch him before he fell, carefully easing the older man down into a comfortable chair. Juan’s tear-streaked face crumpled in pain as he took hold of his son’s sleeve, fingers clenching and unclenching in the material.

“You must give me your word that you will not pursue this matter,” he said, breath hitching.

“Father--”

“Your word,  _ hijo _ .”

After a moment, Dean nodded. “My word.”

He was not prepared for what came out of Juan’s mouth next, however, and the room around him grew bright in his rage.

“Miguel, Dean. Miguel is the one to blame.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Dean was silent as he undressed for the evening, his shoulders tight and a migraine beginning to press insistently behind his eyelids. 

_ Miguel had murdered his mother. _

He had long known that Juan and the Capitàn held no love for one another, but to finally discover the reason behind their animosity was appalling. 

The younger Don’s thoughts turned pained as he remembered the sight of Don Juan in the dining room, tears of sorrow streaking his face. He paused in the act of tugging off his tunic, his fists clenching.

“You gave your word.”

Castiel’s voice in his ear made Dean shake his head and twist out of his lover’s reach, ignoring the hurt look the other man sent him.

“I cannot stand idly by and watch as Miguel continues to tighten his fist around this pueblo. My father--” He paused, his jaw setting into a firm line.

“El Zorro has never stood for injustice,” he said through clenched teeth. “How am I to face those that depend on the Fox’s help if I am not allowed to--”

“Dean.” Castiel spun him around and pushed him into the mattress, straddling him. “No one has said that you must be idle while Miguel continues his reign of terror, but your safety--”

“To the devil with my safety!” Dean bit out, and Castiel’s eyes darkened, hips pushing downward as he leaned forward, gripping the other Don’s wrists. 

“You will not be reckless,” he snapped, the words more of a command than anything else, though his voice trembled. “Heaven forbid the day that I mourn over your lifeless body.”

Dean’s voice was softer when he spoke, but the determination still held in his eyes. 

“You know as well as I that Miguel will stop at nothing until he holds all of this pueblo, and likely all of Spanish California, in his grasp. We must move now, when he believes that his enemies have turned tail.”

Castiel rose and stood by the window, his features half hidden in the dim light. His words were quiet.

“What is your plan?”

Dean placed strong, comforting hands on Castiel’s shoulders, kneading out the tension. “Even you cannot know _. _ The less who are involved, the better.”

Castiel seemed on the verge of arguing, but with a sigh, leaned against Dean’s chest. The other Don folded him in an embrace, and the two stared out at the night.

“Swear to me that I will see your face again,” Castiel whispered. “I have no wish to live if you perish.”

“I swear it,  _ amado _ ,” Dean murmured into Castiel’s thick, dark locks. “I swear it.”

***

It was quite late before the two were able to relax, aided in large part by multiple sessions of fierce lovemaking. Castiel curled beside Dean without a word, idly tracing patterns on the other man’s damp chest, content to watch him breathe. 

After a few moments, Dean shifted away with a raw chuckle. “I am afraid I am oversensitized, my love.”

Castiel smiled, choosing instead to press a gentle kiss to Dean’s temple, but the Don’s expression turned somber. 

“I had vowed to not speak of it, but tomorrow, I must travel to Miguel.”

Castiel’s heart sank. He knew the fear he felt showed in his eyes, for Dean reached out to lace their hands together, his voice soft.

“El Zorro will not show himself. I will go as the son of Don Juan, and no more.”

“He will know the truth,” Castiel said desperately. “The Capitàn is no fool, and should you mention Mary’s death--”

“It must be done,  _ querido _ . He has destroyed the lives of too many, for far too long. I cannot allow my father to be another one of his casualties.”

“Surely you do not mean to ride to his  _ hacienda _ and speak with him there?” Castiel said quietly.

“It is what he would expect. The Fox relies on secrecy. Don Dean de Winchester has nothing to hide--or so Miguel believes. I must allow that belief to continue, at least for the moment.” He sighed, suddenly appearing very weary to the other Don’s eyes. “I will leave in the morning, before the heat of the day. Miguel does not appear at the barracks until later.”

“And Don Juan?”

“While his concern would be offered out of a desire to keep his only son safe, you must remain silent on the matter, Castiel. To have the eldest Winchester follow his child to Miguel’s would only cause trouble, and I fear what Father may try to do. I know his skill with a blade as much as I am aware of my own. To strike out against Miguel in rage and retribution will send him to the gallows, and even El Zorro would not be able to save a man from a charge of premeditated murder.”  
Don Castiel brushed a stray lock of hair from the other man’s forehead. “Then I shall hold my tongue,” he murmured, “and keep Don Juan from Miguel.”

“ _ Gracias _ , my love.” Dean’s arm came around Castiel’s shoulders to pull him in close. 

Castiel did not say that it was too early for Dean to be thanking him for anything.

***  
Don Juan stepped outside into the cool predawn air, breathing in deeply. The moon hung just above the horizon, and the navy blue sky was slowly losing the fight to keep her few remaining stars. He felt tired and troubled, his arms aching to hold the woman he would never see again.

His thoughts returned to the evening before, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. To show such emotion in front of his son was not something that he had planned, and yet, Dean had seemed to handle it quite well. Juan found himself relieved that Don Castiel had been there as well. The young Don was quite obviously the perfect match for Dean, and Juan regretted that it had taken so long for his bigotry to depart.

There had been certain...sounds...while he’d slept fitfully, and Juan couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. If his son believed that his father’s hearing was deteriorating, or that the  _ hacienda _ walls were enough to drown the two of them out, Dean was sorely mistaken. 

“ _ Buenos dias,  _ Don Juan. Perhaps you would be kind enough to inform me where I might find Don Castiel.”

The icy voice made Juan spin around to face his gate, and his jaw tightened when he saw none other than Capitàn Miguel, a contingent of five soldiers with him. Despite the overwhelming urge he felt to run the man through with his own blade, he was not a fool. Five against one, with his son and Don Castiel asleep inside, was not an appropriate situation to attempt a  _ coup d’etat _ .

“I have not seen him for some time,” Juan answered coolly. “Have you considered that he has simply grown weary of you and decided to leave?”

Miguel’s eyes flashed. 

“I appreciate your attempt to disguise the truth, Don Juan, but it is hardly necessary. I know for certain that you are hiding him within your walls, thanks to the paid efforts of one of the natives.”

Don Juan’s eyes narrowed as a young boy peered around the corner of one of the horses, his expression terrified. It was clear that the boy’s “efforts” had been supplemented with a heavy dose of threats and punishment.

“Is your heart so cold, Miguel--and are you so spineless--that you would force a child to perform your acts of treachery and treason?”

“Treason?” Miguel snapped, dismounting his horse and tossing the reins to the boy, who scrambled to hold the horse still as it began to pace nervously from the Capitàn’s rising voice. “How dare you stand before me as though you are an innocent party? You, who harbor my property within your walls?”

“Your  _ property _ ?” Juan seethed, his fists clenching. “Don Castiel is not a slave or a native, Miguel. He is a man who has been granted the liberty of choice by God. You would do well to remember this.”

Miguel smiled thinly. 

“Careful, Don Juan. Your tongue may cost you yet.”

Juan’s chin lifted. “I suppose you would be the one to enact the penalty?”

“Do not test me,” Miguel hissed. “It would be a shame to leave Don Dean without a father. He has already lost so much.”

Juan took one step forward, his shoulders stiff and bile in his throat.

“Take your men and go, Miguel, before my civility changes course,” he said fiercely.

Without a word, the Capitàn turned away. Juan had only a brief moment of satisfaction before the hilt of a sword connected with his skull, and the world faded to black.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Castiel carefully slipped from Dean’s arms, dressing quietly. He needn’t have worried; Dean remained asleep, his breathing slow and deep. With a fond glance at the bed, Castiel let the door close and walked down the hallway towards the  _ sala _ , where he expected to find Don Juan.

The  _ hacienda  _ was eerily silent, and Castiel frowned, his steps slowing. Granted, it was barely past dawn, yet there should have been the sounds of the servants, if nothing else. But the home was still as death.

Not wishing to dwell on the thought, Castiel shivered, suddenly feeling cold despite the thick tunic he wore. And where was Don Juan? Castiel wondered, finding the  _ sala  _ empty, last’s night’s fire having sunk into glowing embers. It appeared it had not been stoked for the day, either, and that gave Castiel great pause, his heart tripping in his chest.

“Did you truly believe that you could run from your past, Don Castiel?”

The voice made Castiel freeze, for he knew it all too well. Sure enough, Miguel’s form entered his peripheral vision, along with his men from the barracks. On his knees between the soldiers was Don Juan, bloodied at the temples and appearing slightly dazed.

“What have you done to him?” Castiel’s voice shook, and Miguel looked over his shoulder casually.

“When a man is intent on letting his mouth run ahead of his thoughts, he must learn the lesson of silence.” Miguel’s gaze darkened as it returned to Castiel.

“As for you, I would not put up a fight--if only for the sake of Don Juan and that insolent buffoon you have fallen into bed with.”

“He is hardly a fool,” Castiel bit out, against his better judgment. “Don Juan’s son is everything that you can only dream of being.”

Rage filled Miguel’s expression, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a cool, detached smile, and Castiel’s eyes unwillingly flicked to Don Juan, fear for the older man making it difficult to breathe.

Miguel’s tone was pleasant, though his words were anything but.

“Come with me now, and perhaps I will be kind enough to allow Don Juan and his son to live.”

_ Return to Miguel?  _ Castiel thought wildly. To a life of shame, where he was neither wanted nor needed, and viewed as nothing more than a body to relieve the Capitàn’s urges? He could not!

Yet if he refused, the two people he had come to care for so deeply would suffer.

With a breaking heart, Castiel stepped forward and placed his hand in Miguel’s. The Capitàn’s smile turned subtly darker, and he chuckled.

“You have chosen wisely.”

“Your promise?” Castiel reminded him, and from the floor, Don Juan muttered something that earned him a swift kick to the ribs from one of the soldiers. He hissed in pain, and Castiel’s eyes bored into Miguel’s. 

“The prize you sought is before you,” the younger Don said, half pleading. “Let us depart from this place.”

Miguel’s gaze traveled from Castiel to Don Juan, and then down the hall, where Dean still slumbered. He clicked his tongue.

“True enough.” He motioned to his men, and the group made their way outdoors into the bright morning sun, leaving Don Juan behind.

Castiel stared at what he knew to be Dean’s window, willing himself not to weep. It was the only way to keep those he loved best far from danger.

Miguel paused suddenly, bringing Castiel to a halt. Confused and nervous, Castiel watched as the Capitàn spoke too rapidly to his soldiers for the young Don to catch, which earned boisterous laughter. Turning, Miguel mounted his mare, addressing the nearest soldier with barely a glance.

“ _ Màtalos.” _

“ **NO** !” Castiel cried, as the man raised his gun and fired six shots--three into the  _ sala  _ and three through Dean’s window, shattering the fine glass into tiny fragments.

His heart in his throat, Castiel prayed desperately and watched for any movement. There was none, and rage born of grief filled him. Lunging forward, he caught Miguel by the scabbard of his sword and began to drag him from the horse.

_ “¡Asesino! ¡Mentiroso! Tu me diste tu palabra!”  _ he screamed, and in disgust, Miguel kicked out, catching Castiel off guard. He tumbled to the ground, and immediately three soldiers were hauling him upwards, quickly binding his hands with rough rope before forcing him astride another stallion. A fourth leapt up behind him, taking the reins before Castiel could try to escape.

“Imbecile,” Miguel spat. “Did you think I would not take the opportunity to rid myself of my greatest enemies? The pueblo will look to me now.”

“They will never follow you,” Castiel said fiercely, though hot tears skimmed down his cheek. Miguel only snorted.

“I said follow, Don Castiel. Whether they comply or not is their own affair--though I intend to enforce the law regardless.” He turned the horse to the east. 

“ _ ¡Vàmonos!” _

***

Dean had woken shortly after Castiel had exited the room, content to simply lay in the warm sheets and allow his mind to recall the events of the night before. He smiled as the image of Castiel curled around him, begging for mercy, resurfaced, and lazily, he wondered if there would be time in the day later to revisit such activities.

After some moments, he rose and donned clothes, intent on meeting his lover in the dining room for breakfast. His stomach agreed hastily at the thought of delighting in Rosita’s  _ huevos rellenos  _ and sweet churros, complemented by her perfectly made  _ cortado. _

His steps slowed in the hallway as he heard Castiel’s voice. It sounded distressed, and another voice soon joined it, one that made Dean’s pulse quicken in anger.

What was Miguel doing in the  _ hacienda _ ? Dean knew that visits from the Capitàn had only spelled trouble in the past, and certainly, this could be no exception. More to the point, where was his father?

Something that sounded suspiciously like a foot hitting a body, followed by a familiar, agonizing hiss, left Dean trembling in rage. He would have stormed into the  _ sala  _ and told Miguel exactly where he could take himself and his men, but what he heard next made him freeze.

“Come with me now, and perhaps I will be kind enough to allow Don Juan and his son to live.”

The ultimatum the Capitàn had just given Castiel was one that was carefully thought out and deviously planned. Miguel, the devil, knew exactly what the Don’s answer would be.

There was unintelligible conversation for some moments, and then Castiel’s voice was heard again.

“The prize you sought is before you. Let us depart from this place.”

Dean’s heart sank. Castiel had agreed to go with the Capitàn, all to save the lives of his lover and Don Juan. The man inwardly cursed Castiel’s self-sacrificing nature.

The sound of many booted feet retreating into the courtyard was made clear, followed by Don Juan’s clear groan of pain. Dean had set one foot forward when the distinctive, horrifying sound of a rifle being cocked met his ears, and not an instant later, gunfire erupted.

Dean dove for the floor, rolling out of the way as the window next to him exploded into fragments, showering him with glass. He thanked the heavens above that none of the shards found their way under his skin, and half-crawled toward the  _ sala.  _

“Father!  _ Father _ !”

The gunfire had stopped, and soon enough Dean saw Don Juan slumped behind a chair. The sight nearly stopped his heart, until he realized the elder man was breathing. Quickly, Dean found his way to his side. 

Don Juan swatted his son’s hands away when Dean’s fingers began to probe at his ribs. 

“They are only bruised. As for the gunfire,” he added, seeing the unspoken question in Dean’s eyes, “Miguel’s soldiers are poor shots, indeed.” He shifted in his place, and taking the hint, Dean caught hold of his arm and pulled him to his feet.

Juan winced at the sudden strain the movement caused on his sore body, but turned to meet Dean’s gaze. 

“Miguel has taken Don Castiel.”

Dean swallowed. “I am aware. I sincerely regret I did not have the gall to stop him.”

Don Juan shook his head, laying a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder. “You were both in a precarious situation. You have each done what you could in the moment.” Juan’s eyes hardened. “Yet I would rather be damned to eternity than allow Miguel to escape his due punishment for this. I will call the Dons to arms.”

Hastily, Dean began to speak. “I will also act, Father. I will write a letter to the governor and have a servant ride forth. Surely Spain will--”

“ _ Hijo _ .” Gently, Juan lifted Dean’s chin. “There is no longer a need to lie.”

Dean’s heart thundered in his chest. Was this the moment his father revealed that he knew the truth?

Don Juan’s next words left no doubt.

“You are a hero, my son. Now, more than ever, you must step into that role.”

“Do you approve of this role?” Dean’s voice was quiet, and Juan smiled wistfully. 

“This shall have to wait for another time. Don Castiel is awaiting the Fox.”

For a moment, the two men--both wiser and older than their respective years--did not speak or move, hundreds of questions and answers in their eyes. Then Don Juan gave his son a fierce shake.

“Go,  _ hijo _ .”

Dean did not have to be told twice.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Castiel wrenched himself from the soldiers’ grasp as soon as they arrived at the barracks, spitting at their feet, and the sounds of mocking laughter echoed all around the courtyard. One soldier, whom Castiel had heard called Santiago, made a show of being afraid. Another soldier grinned in Castiel’s direction, his eyes full of lust.

“I would very much like to ruffle the feathers of this peacock. Perhaps the Capitàn will share. It is a shame to let him solely enjoy the benefits of all our labor.”

The words turned Castiel’s stomach. He was no fool--Miguel would do with him as he liked, and then give the soldiers their wish.

Santiago strode forward and caught Castiel’s chin in his hand, planting a rough kiss on his lips. His breath had the odor of sour whiskey, and when he forced his tongue into the Don’s mouth, Castiel bit down on the organ with all his might.

Santiago stumbled back with a howl of pain, blood trickling down his chin.

“The peacock has talons!” a young soldier commented, and the group roared with mirth.

Santiago’s eyes were full of hatred as he stared at Castiel. “ _ Puta _ ,” he said through clenched teeth. “Before Miguel touches you, I will--”

“You will do what, exactly?”

A hush suddenly fell over the courtyard, and Castiel did not have to look up to know why.  _ Santa Marìa,  _ Miguel had returned from his barrack duties.  

Santiago stepped back, swallowing with difficulty, and spoke. 

“I--I was merely stating that perhaps the Don requires additional reminders of whose he is,  _ mi Capitàn.” _

“Indeed?” Miguel stood very still, his hands clasped behind his back in the traditional soldiers’ pose. “And am I to assume that you wish to be that which jogs his memory?”

Santiago hesitated. “Capitàn, Don Castiel is a fine catch. Perhaps...he might be loaned out on occasion?”

“Loaned out.” It wasn’t a question, and unconsciously, Castiel backed away. He had a fair idea of what would happen next.

“Well...yes,” Santiago said carefully.

Miguel moved so quickly that the eye would have been unable to follow his movements. Santiago let out a choked noise, gazing down at the sword the other man had planted in his middle. Miguel leaned in, twisting the weapon cruelly. Santiago gurgled, a thick rivulet of blood running from the corner of his mouth, before Miguel slid the blade back with a flick of his wrist. 

Santiago fell to the dirt like a sack of rocks and lay there, unmoving.

“Know this,” Miguel spat to the crowd of stunned soldiers. “Castiel is mine, and mine alone. Should any of you witless dolts decide to challenge this fact, you will meet the same fate as this  _ idiota. _ ” Miguel thumped the toe of his boot into the dead man’s side. “Will there be any problems?”

A murmured chorus of “no,  _ mì Capitàn”  _ rumbled throughout the soldiers assembled, and Miguel tossed his sword at one of them, who was unlucky enough to catch it. His eyes widened.

“Clean it,” Miguel barked, “and all of you, get out of my sight.”

There was a mad scramble as the group went off in different directions, and then only Miguel and Castiel were left in the courtyard. Castiel braced himself, but Miguel only perched upon an overturned barrel and eyed him coolly.

Castiel’s heart hammered. What was the man up to?

He soon found out as Miguel began to speak.

“I find it strange,” Miguel began, brushing imaginary dirt from his sleeve, “that I have yet to see Don Dean storming through my gates demanding your release. He is, after all, your paramour.”

Castiel remained silent, fear winding its way around his heart. Miguel continued.

“My soldiers may be fools, but they are not useless when it comes to weaponry. If you believe that they did not manage to hit and kill Don Juan or his son because they have terrible aim, I pity your lack of understanding in these matters.” 

Miguel’s eyes gleamed with the crazed look of a man who had just discovered a long-withheld truth. 

“Or perhaps,” he gloated, “Don Dean is not as spineless as I imagined him to be. Perhaps that fool is something more.”

Castiel could not keep the horror from his face, try as he might to conceal it, and Miguel threw back his head and laughed before catching Castiel’s arms in a viselike grip and pulling him flush against his body, his voice a hiss.

“You are one man, Castiel, but it appears that El Zorro finds you quite extraordinary. I wonder how far he will go to save you.”

***

Don Juan wasted no time. As soon as he’d heard the telltale thunder of hoofbeats receding down the valley behind the  _ hacienda _ , he rang the bell above the fireplace twice in rapid succession. 

An older servant appeared immediately with a bow and an expectant look. 

“Saddle my horse, Matìas,” Juan ordered. “I must ride to Don Jacobo immediately.”

“ _ Sì, señor; de inmediato. _ ” Matìas ran to do as his  _ patròn  _ requested, and Juan slipped on a fresh riding jacket before striding out to the gates, where his stallion was already waiting. Sending up a quick prayer for the servant’s swiftness, the Don mounted and glanced back at the other man.

“Take care of the  _ hacienda _ . I will return as soon as I am able.” Matìas bowed again, and at a dig in the sides from Juan’s heels, the beast thundered down the road.

***

“This is ridiculous, Don Juan! You cannot possibly expect us to believe your simpleton of a son is the famed El Zorro!”

Juan stiffened, and Don Jacobo placed a hand on his shoulder as he directed his words at the man who had spoken, his voice cool. 

“I assure you, Don Carlos, we would not have asked all of you here to my  _ hacienda  _ tonight otherwise. Capitàn Miguel’s intentions are far from honorable, and his plans to bring the entire pueblo down are coming to a head. We must stop him.”

“I say we let the Fox take care of this mess!” The son of Don Carlos, named Nicolàs, folded his arms. “If things are as bad as you say, how is it possible that we, with no army and little weapons, can hope to end Miguel’s reign of terror?”

There was a rumble of assent, and Don Jacobo looked at his friend helplessly. 

Juan spoke quietly, but the words carried far more weight than if he had raised his voice. “It is not only the matter of Miguel’s plotting that is the problem. The Capitàn has taken Don Castiel hostage, and it has long been rumored that he is less than gentlemanlike behind closed bedroom doors.”

The meaning was clear, and this time, though the murmurs were interspersed with horror, the Dons still appeared reluctant to lend their aid. Juan’s fists clenched. His son and an innocent young man were in Miguel’s crosshairs, and all these fools were interested only in their self-preservation? Where was their sense of duty as men of honor? God forbid those in their own lives ever suffered so!

He hadn’t realized the words he was thinking had left his mouth until the room went silent, and Don Carlos cleared his throat.

“Don Juan, we would never allow any man to perish if we were able to. But I must say that--”

A man in the back of the room slowly rose from where he had been seated on a chair, leaning on an elegantly carved walking stick. Carlos’ words died away, and the whole of the room turned to the much older Don.

“My name is Joaquìn Tomàs Emmanuel. I am eighty-nine years old, and never in my lifetime have I seen such a gathering of conceited, quivering infants. When one of our own children is threatened, we fly to their rescue, intent on only their safety. Yet this night, when such a scenario has become reality and not mere dreadful imagination, not one of you frightened schoolboys will step forward to stop a madman from delivering the final, deciding blow to our way of life that has held forth for centuries. Don Juan is our mentor and friend, and to know that he may lose what little remains of his family because of your stubbornness makes me ashamed to be called a  _ caballero. _ ” He thumped the walking stick on the stones below his feet and sat once more.

No one spoke for many minutes, and Jacobo’s fingers tightened on Juan’s shoulder, willing him to wait. At last Don Carlos addressed the room.

“Don Emmanuel is right. Brothers,” he pleaded, “where is our courage now? We speak of it constantly, yet here we stand bickering and wringing our hands while the Fox and Don Castiel’s lives hang in the balance.” Carlos’ voice rose in a fierce cry. “We cannot allow Miguel to thwart us. He has done so for far too many years. It is time to take back what is rightfully our own!”

A rousing hurrah filled Don Jacobo’s  _ sala _ , and Juan choked back emotion as one by one, the Dons came forward and offered their swords and lives, pledging their allegiance and help. At last, as the rest began to disperse to begin the assault upon Miguel, Don Carlos and his son drew Juan aside.

“Forgive me for doubting you,” Carlos said softly. “It is not every day that one finds the father of El Zorro in their midst.” 

Nicolàs sheepishly gazed at his father’s friend. “I meant no harm, Don Juan. Forgive me as well. It would seem I have much to learn still.” He paused. “One day, I would be happy to be half the man your son is.”

Juan smiled halfheartedly. He could not bring himself to tell the boy that should things go awry, he would not live to see that time come.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Miguel dismissed the servant with a minute wave of his hand, watching Don Castiel as he drained the glass of brandy that had been brought. The other man sat opposite him in a tall wing chair, his entire body rigid and his eyes staring resolutely at the far wall. The Capitàn let the quiet stretch on for a few moments before he spoke.

“One would think that instead of your haughty silence, you would be thanking me for my hospitality. It is not often that a Don has seen the inside of my personal  _ hacienda _ .”

Don Castiel’s voice was thick with disgust, though he still did not look at Miguel.

“Does your ‘hospitality’ always involve being guarded by a series of soldiers within and without?”

Miguel shook his head in mock sadness. “How ungrateful you are.” He leaned forward.

“I could give you everything--wealth, power, prestige...even my love, though you doubt it. What does the Fox have to offer but a life of lawlessness and danger?”

Castiel at last met Miguel’s eyes, the disdain in them palpable.

“I would rather be the husband of a bandit than the prisoner of a militant.”

At last Miguel’s carefully constructed façade slipped away. He rose in fury, knocking his own chair to the floor with a clatter before crowding into Castiel’s personal space, teeth bared and eyes wild.

“Fool,” he hissed, reaching out and shaking the Don fiercely. “Do not forget that it was I who ordered the execution of Doña Winchester. I am not a man who dismisses slights against me, Castiel. I depart for Madrid in the morning, and you will be with me, consent be damned. It would be wise of you to remember my words--before El Zorro is sent your rotting corpse as a parting gift.”

***

Zorro entered the mission chapel quietly, his eyes casting about for friends or foes alike. When he saw no one, he approached the altar, kneeling before the likeness of the Virgin. 

The candles the faithful had lit flickered and bent, beckoning him to speak his mind, and hesitantly, the Fox began to pray.

“You know my heart,  _ Santa Marìa, _ ” he whispered. “I ask only one thing of you, and that is peace. My death means little if those under your care may be free of tyranny.” 

He paused, his throat tightening, and continued.

“Yet if it is your will, Blessed Mother, allow me a lifetime with the one I love.”

A sudden soft noise behind him made Zorro rise swiftly, his hand on the hilt of his rapier, but it was only a familiar face--albeit one drained of color.

“ _ Buenas tardes,  _ Padre.”

The priest walked forward, his eyes on the Fox, and spoke haltingly. 

“May God forgive me, but I find it difficult to believe that one who is such a blessing to so many needs guidance here.”

“It has been many years since I have attended church,” Zorro admitted, and then mentally kicked himself for his inadvertent reveal.

The Padre’s eyes widened, and he said in awe, “Don Dean? Can it be?”

The Fox approached quickly, placing a gloved hand over the priest’s mouth briefly. “Careful, Padre,” he murmured. “Even such hallowed walls have eyes and ears.”

The Padre nodded, throwing his arms around Zorro and gripping him tight before pulling away. 

“I had hoped for many years that Don Juan’s gentle son was indeed the Fox,” he whispered. “How is it that you have concealed yourself so well?”

Zorro shook his head. “Now is not the time, Padre. If I live through this night, then perhaps we will speak of it. I must go to face Miguel.”

The Padre nodded gravely. “I have heard of his terrible misdeeds,” he replied, crossing himself. “May God have mercy on his soul--and yours,” he added, placing a warm hand on the other man’s cheek. “The Lord works in the lives of men who assist those without hope.” After a moment, tears rose in his eyes. 

“May God bless and keep you, Don Dean. Do not leave Don Juan without a son.”

Zorro could do nothing but squeeze the Padre’s fingertips, and the priest watched as the Fox slipped out the doors into the night.

***

The hours drew on, and Miguel waited patiently. He knew that the Fox would come for his lover. 

From the balcony of the  _ hacienda _ , he gazed out over the courtyard, watching the soldiers milling about and talking in low tones. He had made it quite clear that any man who deserted out of fear or fell asleep from exhaustion would be dragged before a company of his peers and shot to death. Nothing would prevent him from obtaining the two things he desired most: Don Castiel, and the whole of Spanish California.

_ “Mì Capitàn!” _

“What is it, Perez?” Miguel said sharply, turning to face the soldier who was running up the hallway.

The man’s eyes were wide. “El Zorro! El Zorro has set fire to the stables!”

“What?” Miguel barked, and followed Perez at a close clip down the stairs, emerging out into the courtyard. Some soldiers were dashing about frantically shouting orders, while others lugged buckets of water and were throwing them on the blaze. Still others herded the horses from the area. All was chaos.

“ _ Capitàn! Capitàn! _ It is his mark!” A soldier was pointing frantically at the ground, and as Miguel peered across through the smoke, the telltale “Z” that was the Fox’s calling card could be seen burning in the dirt.

Miguel turned to Perez, who stood beside him shaking in terror, and quietly smiled.

_ So it begins. _

***

Zorro’s feet made no sound as he ascended the stairs, his rapier in hand. Emerging into the empty hallway, he shook his head. Of course Miguel would not be so foolish as to be in plain sight. 

There would be time yet for that, however. First, he needed to find Castiel.

A quick search of the many rooms yielded no results, and the Fox’s hand tightened on the hilt of the blade. There was no telling what Miguel was capable of in these moments when he was cornered.

There was one final room yet to be searched, and Zorro had only just put his hand on the doorknob when he heard a muffled cry. Spinning around, he found his worst fear.

Miguel stood mere feet from him, using Castiel as a shield. At the other man’s temple was the barrel of a gun.

“Oh, do so, please,” Miguel grinned, as Zorro dropped into a defensive stance. “I beg you to give me a reason to pull this trigger.”

The Fox paused, indecision warring in his eyes beneath the mask, and Miguel laughed. 

“And so it has come down to this,” he said, tightening his grip around Castiel’s middle as the Don struggled fruitlessly. “It appears you have a choice to make.” Miguel’s words were a poisonous hiss.

“Who shall die first,  _ Don Dean? _ ”

Desperately, Castiel threw his head back, and Miguel let out a furious, painful shout as the Don’s skull connected with the bridge of his nose, seeing stars. The gun thudded to the floor and went off, tearing a hole in the expensive carpeting.

Castiel ran to Zorro, who pushed the Don behind him. 

“Go,” he demanded. “Find my father and the other Dons. Lead them here.”

“No,” Castiel pleaded, and the Fox gave him a swift, rough kiss, his eyes determined. 

“You must. Now go!”

His vision cleared at last, Miguel growled as he saw no one but Zorro before him. “Do not think this little act of heroism will save Castiel,” he spat, and unsheathed his own sword from his hip. “When I am finished eviscerating you, he will be next.”

The Fox gave a grim smile as the two circled each other slowly. “Are you so certain? Perhaps you foretell your own death.” He chuckled darkly. “It surprises me that you know the meaning of such a word. You do seem so unlearned.”

The jab did exactly what Zorro had hoped, and Miguel struck out with a roar of fury, their blades singing as they met once; twice; again. The Fox laughed as he effortlessly parried thrust for thrust.

“For shame,  _ Capitàn.  _ I have met men three times your age able to wield a blade with more precision.”

Miguel screamed, his strikes becoming more controlled as his rage grew. Zorro found himself slowly being driven back down the hallway toward the balcony. It was obvious Miguel intended to throw him off it if possible. 

The Fox fought back, and now Miguel was the one hard-pressed to keep himself in the fight. 

“I will take everything from you,” Miguel snarled, as the two men strained against each other, their weapons shining in the torchlight. “The people of Spanish California will look to me. I will be their hero from this moment onward.”

“I find it a shame you truly believe the lies you tell yourself,” Zorro grunted, gaining ground as they broke apart. “No one will ever submit to your rule, and I will not leave them helpless.”

“You do not have a choice in the matter,” Miguel spat, and the point of his blade sliced deeply through the tender flesh of the Fox’s stomach. 

Momentarily stunned by pain, Zorro lost his footing, and the two crashed into the balcony rail, their weapons forgotten as the deadly exchange became that of fists and feet. Miguel’s hands closed around the Fox’s neck, and he began to squeeze as he bent him backwards, the look of a madman who had at last conquered his enemy turning his expression into one of crazed glee.

Black spots dancing on the edges of his vision, Zorro kicked out, catching Miguel below the belt. With a yelp, the other man let go, and the Fox returned himself to an upright position, stepping on Miguel’s sword before the Capitàn could fumble for it, his own rapier at Miguel’s throat.

“Stand,” he ordered, his voice fierce.

Slowly, Miguel did so, raising his hands just as the thunderous noise of many booted feet were heard on the stairs, heralding the arrival of the Dons as they appeared in the hallway, led by Don Juan and Castiel. When the sight of their defeated archenemy met them, a collective cheer went up. 

Don Juan walked over to where Miguel stood, a myriad of emotions in his eyes, and then reared back to slam his fist into the other man’s jaw. Miguel stumbled to his knees, then fell onto his rear, stunned, and the Dons howled in amusement. 

“Well done, Zorro,” Juan said, turning to the Fox. “You have saved us all.” 

Zorro met Juan’s gaze, his words quiet.

“I believe that this night, we are all owed a debt. Each has saved the other.”

Juan smiled. He would have spoken, but suddenly, his expression turned to one of alarm as he realized his sword was missing from its sheath. Wildly, he began to turn, but it was too late. A convulsive noise left his lips, and bright red blood slipped from the corner of his mouth.

Horrified, Zorro looked behind the Don to see Miguel laughing wickedly, retrieving Juan’s own sword from the man’s back.

“I always win, El Zorro,” he gloated. “Always.”

The Dons surged forward to take hold of Miguel, who continued to laugh as they restrained him. Five men ushered him down the stairs and out to the courtyard, where a wagon was waiting to take him to the barracks.

Zorro saw and heard nothing but what was before him. He caught Juan as he fell, guiding them both to the floor.

Juan shook his head as Zorro attempted to staunch the flow of blood. “Leave it,” he murmured, chest heaving in pain. “It is too late.”

“ _ No _ ,” the Fox ground out. “You will not die this night, Don Juan.”

Weakly, Juan reached out to close his fingers around Zorro’s bloodied hands. Their gazes met once more.

“You must let go.”

Tears born of frustration and grief filled the Fox’s eyes. 

“Please,” he begged quietly. “Do not leave me, Father.”

“I have always loved you,” Juan whispered, his grip loosening. He glanced briefly at Don Castiel, who had come to kneel beside the two, his expression saddened. Juan smiled. 

“I am proud to call you my son, Dean.” He closed his eyes, sighing tremulously. “Your mother waits for me. It has been...too long…”

Zorro felt the moment Juan’s life left him, and he gathered the man close, his tears dampening the other man’s neck.

One by one, the Dons removed their hats. Carlos was the first, and the only, one to speak, and he did so quietly.

“And thus a brilliant light has been put out. Godspeed, Don Juan.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fox of Spanish California has many enemies, but Capitan Miguel of the Spanish army is proving to be the most difficult to corral. Things only become more complicated when El Zorro finds himself falling in love.

Dean swallowed tightly as he glanced around the mission chapel. It seemed all who inhabited the pueblo had come out to pay their respects to Don Juan. It had become standing room only, with many more spilling outside, and the younger Don was greatly moved.

“They do not come only to honor your father.”

Castiel’s voice was quiet, and when Dean did not respond, he lightly touched his jaw, redirecting Dean’s gaze to the man he loved. 

“Perhaps it is time to speak the truth, beloved.”

Dean appeared hesitant, but before more words could be exchanged, the Padre took his place before the altar and Don Juan’s simple, yet elegant, carved wooden coffin.

“This day we mourn one who stood for the truth,” he began. “Don Juan de Winchester was a man of great integrity, faith, hope, and love. His passing, though it seems harsh and cruel, was already ordained by our Lord before it occurred.” He paused to make the sign of the cross. “May we forever honor him by living our own truth to the full.” Dean knew he was not mistaken when the priest’s eyes landed on him briefly, the meaning quite clear. “Let us pray.”

When the echoes of the mourners’ voices had ceased, Dean quietly made his way to the front of the chapel. Gazing out over the mass of people--his people--he took a breath and spoke.

“My father knew all of you personally, and well. He made every effort to ensure your safety, your comfort, and your livelihood would remain intact. He would be honored were he able to see every one of his friends gathered to pay their respects.” 

Dean paused. Every eye was focused on him. Some wept; others embraced; still others were quietly observing; yet all looked to him. 

In a sudden moment of clarity, Dean realized he could hide no longer. With a thundering heart, he felt for the piece of fabric in the inner lining of his riding jacket. After a moment, he pulled it out, holding it up for all to see.

“As my father pledged to you, so now do I: I will not leave you without protection. It is my honor, my duty, and my calling, now and forevermore. As both Dean de Winchester and  _ El Zorro _ , I swear it.”

A collective gasp went up from the crowd as the true meaning of the black cloth was revealed. For a moment, everyone seemed too stunned to speak, until a small boy yelled out excitedly,  _ “El Zorro!” _

_ “¡Viva El Zorro!”  _ The cry came from Don Carlos. 

_ “El Zorro! El Zorro!”  _ The passionate chant echoed loudly in the small chapel, and soon, Dean heard the cry being repeated in the streets.

As he gazed at the enthusiastic crowd, Castiel’s gaze met his, devotion, love, and pride shining in his eyes, and Dean knew he had made the right decision. 

With a flourish, he tossed the mask into the throng. Their thrilling calls only became louder. 

Tipping his head back to stare at the frescoed ceiling, the Don smiled, closing his eyes. 

He was free at last.

***

“....and by the power vested in me by the grace of God, I now pronounce you tied for eternity, made one in the sight of the Lord.”

A festive roar erupted from the crowd that had gathered to watch the ceremony outside the newly built church, and Castiel laughed as his husband caught him around the waist, lifting him halfway into the air and swinging him about before gently placing him back on his feet. His eyes were alight with happiness. 

The Padre cleared his throat pointedly, and Dean sealed his lips over Castiel’s without preamble, to the delight and good-natured catcalls of those watching. When he pulled away, he let out a high, long whistle.

Impala trotted around the corner of the church, her bridle arrayed with red and white roses. 

“May I?” Dean held out his hand, and Castiel allowed himself to be arranged in the saddle as the other Don swung up behind him, wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist. His smile was dazzling as he directed it at the Padre.

“Thank you for everything.”

The Padre chuckled. “You are quite welcome, my good son.”

Impala whinnied, headbutting the priest, who let out an “Oof!” at the unexpected force and promptly fell to the ground. Some pointed, snickering, and one young man called out, “Oh, don’t look so flustered, Padre! Your good form saved you from much damage!”

The crowd erupted in raucous laughter again, and with a chuckle, the priest got to his feet. 

“Get on with you, my children, and begin your life together! And you had best come to church more than once every few years,” he added dangerously, pointing at Dean, who simply laughed, nudging Impala in the sides gently to turn her around.

“Yes, Padre.”

“Goodbye, Padre!” Castiel called. “May the Lord bless you!”

Watching as the two rode off into the rays of the setting sun to more cheering, the Padre shaded his eyes with one hand and smiled.

“He already has, my child. He already has.”

  
  


**END**

  
  
  
  
  
  



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